onetime in a bathroom stall burried underneath layers of curse words and "brave" confessions of love I read:
there is no specific recipe for anything
I stood there for awhile
then thought back to
sitting on the ledge
clutching his skethobook quite tightly and looking down into the sea
coffee colored eyes
all of our worries sink
when we remember
those damn dangily feet.
both made for the right foot
each built to bring him through
and everything in between.
when you close your eyes
when you lay awake
the theif that longs for your misery
remember how reality
is as real as you make it?
the ocean might have large waves
and at times be confused with
NO MATTER WHAT YOU HEARD
(involing this paticular article of happening)
he drops his coin below
into the deep
stored next to 4 billion question marks
skip to the part where you catch him riding his bike
to a funeral
to the bakery
to the house with the seaweed shutters
the water bed
where he lays his spine
skip to the party where my insides
this is not how it should be.