1.

i was young when my mother spoke to me about love. she used words i didn't know, phrases and equations that scurried away into the atmosphere far above. her voice had a determined sincerity that was beyond me as she attempted to explain why she would never leave my father. it was a soft and cutting afternoon on the river, and i felt as if a volley of arrows had descended upon me, so many missing the mark, but at least one piercing my little body. one sharp arrow that made me understand that love was something important, something i needed to find. a mysterious goal. i knew it was something good. but now i know that i was wrong.

---------------

sleep much?
wake up. munch munch.
snowy crunch.
everyone of us is a natural disaster. fuck.
too much?
close your mouth let's go for a ride.
out of town.
for a slide down the street,
find hills of good,
and pretend that we always meant well.
we mean well.
punch punch.
gentle touch.
everyone of us is a liar.
i could spend an eternity hiding from myself.
i will die tomorrow.
everyone of us will be in a corner soon.
run much?
hide and seek? guts.
we have no guts.
drive drunk much?
such such a waste of potential.
everyone of us is blind.
nothing is fine. fuck.