cliches

My heart always springs
And s             k         i        p      s, , ,,,
rocks and beats,
When our hands meet.
I consistently
tend to find
my head,
Somewhere over
my cleats.
I'm running
after
you.

I cannot-willnot
be discrete,
It would be,
utterly obsolete!

But sometimes...
telling
you
Is such a feat...

So,

I write to express,
How much you mean to me.

I write to confess:
        That:
           I never want to be without you.

I write all this,
but not for you to read.

Because they say;

actions speak,
Louder than words.

So,

I'll simply loan
you a kiss,
And leave the interpretation
of my
obvious intentions,
to your
lips.

wait for it... wait for it...

Always waiting for something.

It's always something.

Be it:

the bus, the cab, or the train.
a love, partner, or relationship.
material or not.

Always waiting.

For a:

chance, opportunity,
moment.

What the fuck is the point?

Make things happen.

Walk into the middle of the street.

Stop that yellowyellow Cabus.

Rip open,

the door.

Tell her you love her.

Tell her how she

x is the o

x only o

x one o

for 

you.

And, that she could:

be your, life partner,

in a life long,

relationship.

You know.

The Usual.

Bullshit.

Take that chance.

Make that opportunity yours, and turn it into a moment you won't ever forget. Much like that one day...

Your first day of High school.

Running after the bus.

You'll never forget.

It sure didn't wait for you.
So,

why wait for it?

Lose your train of thought?

Take the bus.

Miss the bus?
You better,

run after it..

Noise.

As I lay here,

I think.

Mute.

Life needs, a mute button.

For those,

Rallying cries of agony.

As the crowds gather,

For sunday mAss.

Those,

screeches of pain.

As the drones

March on by,

singlefile.

With nothing but

Empty debt, $$$

And their, ninetofive,

Mentality.

Those,

Childish howls.

Of innocent bliss.

As red 

Suits

Are burnt.

And white beards 

Put away.

Cries of desperation,

As,

Trucks crashing,

Over imperfections in,

asphalt,

asphalt,

being.

Created. Organized.

Molded.

Mute.

Life needs a mute button.

For all this,

Fucking

Noise.

shadows

I regret not closing the blinds.
The sun keeps getting in my eyes.
A story to remain untold.
H2O seeping into cushions
As if it owed the fabric payment.
For deeds done upon.
Refreshments.
SweatBloodTears.
All,
seeping in.
as if owed.
SECRETS;
disarranged and dismantled,
a disassociated disarray.
2Peasinapod.
Laying intertwined.
As if,
one in the same.
Moments,
quaintest of quaints.
As if,
Piloting a submarine.
Deep sea.
10,000 leagues,
Of, extraordinary gentlemen.
And they're all outside.
I regret not closing the blinds.
Tantalizing eyes,
Staring into
Untold secrets.
At least,
they're blocking out the sun.

advice:

walk.

don't,

talk.

frequencies

there are so many words
to
describe
so
many things

every thing
is
a symbol
for something

every thing
has
its own purpose

even if that
purpose
is to have no purpose

but such things
do not exist

every thing
has
a
purpose

for if there
was no dust

gravity wouldnt
be
so
pulling

if there was no
grass

the winds
would
tempest
singly

if no people
the
rivers

of creation
would
run dry

beauty would
turn
monochromatic

in a wild,,

greenblue,
and
your
occassionalbrown,

earth.

we are

all

receptors

for these

symbols&signals

you

get out

what you

put in

everything

matters.

what if

i am

a 

hopeless

romantic

in the sense

that

i have romantic

feelings

inspired by you

but in having

these

i feel hopeless

inspired by you

i guess:: every 

coin

has a 

second face.

you just

gotta

get

lucky,

every dog

has their

day.

and 

people

hurtlove

people,

but

thats

just life.