one hour is not enough

this life is not enough

I need more time

to LIVE

I never want to stop living

so much to experience

so many places to go

so many feelings to feel.

(one hour is not enough)

I want more time

not because I wasted my life

no

because I haven't wasted my life

so I know

just how beautiful life is.

(one hour is not enough)

There is so much to live for...

and yet I have to die

even though I see nothing good

to come from it.

but maybe that's the point.

maybe this blindness

can allow for more

bliss.

maybe we are like a butterfly

born as a caripillar

to die and be reborn as something beautiful.

or like a flower

basking in the sunshine of life

and dying with the waking of winter.

but as the petals sink into the earth

new life sprouts from fresh soil.

so now

im not shaking

im dancing

hopeful

that

maybe

this life

this awe-filled life

is just

the beginning.

(one hour is all i need)

(im afraid to love)

i want to trace my fingertips along your milky skin; sending chilling vibrations and warm sensations through your veins; i want to show you how i love.

(im afraid to love you)

i want to tangle my hands in your long silky hair; get lost in a trance i may not be able to bear; see stars in your eyes and the universe in your soul; create galaxies with our moans of infinite pleasures.

(im afraid that if i love you...)

i want this happiness i feel bursting in my chest, to explode like fireworks, and fall like rain; basking us with freedom to love one another.

(im afraid that if i love you...you wont feel the same)

when the oceans calm

and the birds are no longer in song

ill be there

breathing it all in.

when the world slows

cars idling quietly

streets cleared

and snow sinking softly to the ground

ill be here

by your side

hand in hand

gazing upon our dying world

with hope.

Finally everything meretritious

has stopped.

It’s 2:21am, but I am not tired.

inpiration twirls and twirls,

escaping through my fingers.

It’s 2:23am, but I am still up.

thinking of you

and me

and what we could never be.

It’s 2:50am, and I’m still thinking of you.

thinking of your strawberry hair

(intertwined with my fingers)

and those cherry lips

(brushing up agaisnt mine).

It’s 3:00am, and I’m hurting.

breaking

from this heart-pain

(it bubbles and bubbles and bubbles)

It’s 2:00am, and I’m tired.

So.

So.

So tired.

No, it’s 5:00am,

and my eyes are twitching

and my lungs are shaking

and my mind is yelling

and my heart is creaking

and my body is still

and

I

am

b r e a k i n g

from

the

inside.

It’s too late.

I will be alone forever.

There is this

a c h i n g

b r o k e n e s s

that dwells inside my chest.

I have not had my first kiss

(nor do I think I will ever have one)

and no kiss

can fix

this

h o l l o w n e s s

this

u n b e a t i n g

heart.

I can not envision

a kiss.

I am sorry.

I just can't.

All I see is me

left

a l o n e

with a

b l e e d i n g

under my breast.

Perhaps

like Shakespeare

we have grown

into something

different

creative

and unaware

amoungst the common

or the old.

creating words

and worlds

that once before did not exist.

abstract

unpunctuated

crafty

blues

of

magical mysteries.

writing is not

defined

with a definition

but rather with

complex connection of

letters and words

(that maybe don't make sense).

but isn't that the point?

not just of writing,

but of life?

to create meaning out of the meaningless?

to make sense of the insensible.

look at science.

Galileo labled as a fool by the church

locked away

because his ideas were "different".

who's to say that thinking

beyond the earth

will not lead to the discovery of something

like the complexity of the universe?

that is what writing is all about

exploring the universe through verse.

because to write best

is to think

outside the box of the earth

by trying to understand the endless

contents within it.

Writing

is the statement of change

and this

is a statement of change.