Be Vewy Vewy Qwuiet

I can't tell her about the nights I lay out to gaze at stars and wish i was looking into her eyes.
I can't tell her how I'd turn down Mozart and lean against the bathroom door just to listen to her sing.
I cant tell her that I'd rather put a box of puppies dressed as sailors down and hold her hand just a little bit longer.
I can't tell her about the mind control she acquires while I'm captivated by her scent every time she moves past me.
I can't tell her how I lose my appetite by the simple taste of her sweet soft lips.

I can't tell her that I begin every day hoping for a beautiful end to it with her because it is only her that I wish to see, hear, feel, smell and taste day after day, time after time, in a seemingly continuous plateau of sensory satisfaction that my mind cannot break down and my heart may never completely grasp.

She can't know how to defeat me. She can't know to defeat my relentless passion she merely has to distinguish the essence of her that embodies every aspect of beauty I yearn to make memories with.

gone baby gone

love is tricky. here's the problem: there's a hierarchical time line. past, present and future. the past reflects an established order of thought altering the present either reluctantly fearful or aggressively optimistic for the future, naive in its essence epitomizing high risk high reward; the epitome of a gamblers disease or the self destruction of the beauty that held the flicker of light in the first place. you think you know a person until they're tested. a scramble to re-order their priorities leaves you confused and unrelenting. a last ditch effort to regain the line that held your souls counterpart. you hold the rope as the speed in which it departs burns every bit that you hold tight. it's past the point that you want to pull a person back from abrupt abyss. you just want to run to someone that wants to run with you. tip being: don't chase the ones that are never real with their friends. cut her down or cut her loose

Joey

this kid man.. this kid. So, we're playing basketball at his girlfriends court like a weekly summer tradition. He never wins, not because he isn't good, just because one on one is my game. He has this one move though where he'll drive down the lane lean in to me a hit a fade away layup off the glass. you can't defend it and its ridiculous how easy that move is for him. anyway he's been getting progressively better and i wont let him beat me. until that fateful day. he did his move about two or three times and i caught on and started to shut him down. he miraculously managed to dribble the ball through my legs, lose it behind him while yelling "ohhhh what you got white boy?!" and i chase him down as he picks it up fading away shooting over my swatting hand falling out of bounds behind the three point line landing into surrounding bushes as leaves fall from the canopied tree he shot the ball through before it swishes through the net. as if i'm not embarrassed enough to let anyone do that to me, it had to be him. he's jumping and yelling "What white boy?! where you at white boy?! white boy!" sigh. i check the ball with him, he runs over to the same spot and drains another three pointer to win the game. i hate him. he will always have that in his arsenal to use against me, and believe me, he will. joeys my best friend and he uses it against me. ily all day brosef.

summation of a sunrisen text

i pull you in as i hold you close, your cold yearns for the warmth of my arms. you lay, tired from a draining day; i examine you. a radiant fair skin tone with flashes of hue shines amongst dark cold sheets as a closer view reveals the passionate kisses left by the adulterating sun. the faintest of freckles are the imperfections that only act as tantalizing realizations of the reality of you. pinch myself. your legs are tone, smooth and long as they extend past my horizon upon motionless heels warn out by mysteries yet explained at a fire-lit rainy night in. i gaze. my vision blurs between the serenity and wonder of how a complex creature of stunning beauty can correlate the phenomenon of your existence with the excitement of my future. sleep. dream. awake to an empty, unfulfilled silent clean room; seek me out, find me to fit into the niche of your tiniest of nooks, cozy as it may be; for an insurmountable brief moment perfection is personified in my life through the addition of you. wiggle, hum and sing softly of well written ideas coldplay pressed upon you through the magic of piano melodies, as mixed uncertainties of my fluctuating membrane tear across the brightest of hopes like an exploding star through a dim night sky. worries and doubt cloud you but yield to your lazy joy. close your eyes. sleep for another tomorrow. awake to a hustling morning full of minute accidents and aggravation injected by coffee flavored adrenaline as you shower dress and move through traffic tying your bun, eye lash brush between your coated lips swerving between three lanes as the last moves further ahead. tension builds until you're fidgeting may have cost you five minutes. arrival. greeting familiar faces thinking of obstacles ahead preparing yourself for things to come as the Chanel purse buzzes. you sit down, open every relative tab and read the leftover emails of frustration from nagging hoarders seeking your demise pressing down on you. sigh. turn to read the messages and unlock the phone to cease the blinking red light. you reluctantly read: breath. go through the motions that will lead you back to me. cycle through the weary tasks that drain the youthful ambitions of your soul. be strong. the idea of seeing you after flickers a light inside me that i will endlessly chase and never tell you about. so keep it a secret, i've been missing you since you woke.
-matthew

Just a Glimpse

The night is condemned. Strands of silver lined smoke whisper through the neon lasers. Bored at a table with nothing to do but watch. most make fools of themselves which is entertaining for a while. Too much time and not enough excitement we get up to leave and squeeze through a crowded walkway as legs pass bye me and i turn. You turn and your eyes intensify as they draw mine in, becoming as captivated as you. A grin subconsciously creeps across your soft cheek and the bass drops as a surge rushes over me rejuvenating me by the simple pleasure of acknowledging your presence. I'm confused by beauty and attention. Maybe every once in a while, there is no catch.
Personification of a dream

all day

i like sports and cartoons. not just random cartoons or sports, but the ones with passion, danger and excitement. like transformers, ninja turtles and batman. football, basketball and hockey. animal movies like black beauty, wild hearts can't be broken, fievel goes west, and the rescuers down under. airbud is gay. i like to sing, but don't listen. i like smooth surfaces, i feel like im moving faster. i HATE cracks. i like girls who know how to walk in heels, and i hate those midhigh heels. dumb, go big or go home. i like an innocent girl with bad tendencies, it like finding a kid with melted popsicle all over him cute, but not a kid with melted shit all over him. i like sand castles but not sand. i like speed and adrenaline. i think i can survive most anything for some dumb reason. i like american stuff. 4th of july, blowing stuff up, being competitive, drunk dancing, the wave at football stadiums, cowboy boots. i can't help dreaming of falling in love then shying away from every beautiful girl that walks bye. water balloons are great. i don't like sleeping, somewhere theres something going on that im missing. tree forts never go out of style. im drawn to new york city and montana at the same time. restlessness, slowing down, boredom drive me crazy. im a man with a plan. the plan is dont stop til i drop

Danger: Flamming Balls

Lets say you live in a neighborhood left over from former war vets and their families, white America, do it yourself, know it all, no law needed stronghold of handymen NRA loving families called Cutler Ridge. Now lets say you have an amazing imagination in accordance with a sense of humor and a delinquent younger brother. Clearly that combination is going to eventually dress up at night as Batman and Robin with a friend dressed in a banana suit filming as they bomb mailboxes of families they don't like with illegally bought and made mortars. Catastrophic results for those front yards; a couple craters, burning lawns and beautiful displays of 4th of july majesty roaring into the starlit sky as they book it down the back-roads to the next victims on the hit list. Must be fun growing up in the Ridge.