the wind will slam our bodies together.

All I can think about is that one line--

"the music our collisions make."

We're a crashing, clanging, clattering, cacophonous score

rising to the ears of a dead god.

And maybe it's beautiful. 

The internet taught me about sex three years ago.

But I still don't understand sexuality.

... I guess mostly just mine.

The Bible never explained any of this.
So as a perfectly good "church kid," what am I left with?

Now what?

Some days I think about it.
And I'm sad.
And I wonder if I'd be happier if I weren't so queer.
...And I wonder if they miss me.

But more than anything, I wish my mom would stop worrying.

couldn't you try? I could be your prince...

Hey, I uh...

I guess...

I, um...

Still really wish I could have you.

Damn it... 

I gathered from the sandless Pacific beach

an armamentarium of pebbles for your windowpane,

in case I got the courage to call. 

But I didn't, and I won't.

And the daisies I picked for you will dry out

like nostalgia.

Emotions sink in and pile up and are passed between fingers

Like rocks in our palms and pockets. 

i just want to be rid of the guilt.

And I'm manipulative, passive-aggressive, oversensitive, mean.
I've got teeth, dear, I've got teeth.
I only bite the ones I like and you've got fang-marks up and down your arms.

And one year ago, I first loved you!
I saw myself in you and narcissistically fell for our charms.

We have good taste, good taste in everything but sweethearts.
We're in love with ourselves, and self-centered, we break hearts.

Well, maybe that's an exaggeration.
I guess we probably only ever hurt ourselves.