Dandelionfruit

I cried for two days. Escaped into sleep but still dreamed of him. Time fruit, I do love you, but I do bad, Aching into your heart i do plummet disobey set rules and ruin. He says it is about self respect but i wish I wishes. Summer sun through half lidded eyes we are sleepy cats while a real one rests at our feet. Shoulderstairs i climb with a smile. Yellowed teeth i remark but love the same. Who is he now? I am the same. Dandelions may mutate slightly but not far from the original species THEY ARE DANDELIONS Can you forgive me? He says things word noises that make me think ive finally squished the fruit but i cannot believe

Blonde hair and eyes the color of something i don't know because i've never looked, just at the color. I'm always trying to stare past, like maybe i can pry and find something pertaining to life. He looks at me now and i wonder if I've molted or lot the fuzz off my antlers, anything that would change the way he looked at me. Am i the same person that's been here for almost two years? Shifting back and forth we smoke in front of a music store. It takes thirty minutes because those cheap ciggerettes burn slow. We talk about life, ect, idle chihuahua. When we go back in and he picks up a guitar, i prepare myself for a show. I get okay

You could almost see his words in the sky, black like nothing's happening. Airwaves adjusting around me, I let myself be moved by the glow of white teeth against a black everything, white and black. The sun has come under, joining the cesspool of human sweat, which shines and flickers, along with everything else. My hips swivel, my body a buzz, fuel. Everything echoes, our words, movements. His face is a sun, jamaican features and moving lips. " I see the rain come down, while the sun is shining. " A voice by any other location is just a voice. But this was a beacon, and even if there wasn't any music here, there would still be people

I've never met anyone before that steals my breath the way you do.

Stuck in a stuffy classroom, fever starts to cook my brain, the same fever thats ripped me apart for the last three or four months, and in the cold, clammy sweat that escaped my body, little by little taking my sanity with me, there is sugar, leaving me only with bitter acids, devouring itself. In slight tendrils of early winter sun*, lazy and whispy with bits of cold wind just out of my reach, I eat stale jelly beans that were made in the spring, and have hardened into tough, tart beads of smiles and innocence. In the light of this simple pleasure, the anger and annoyances of the world escape me, and all I can think of is slides and playgr