I wrote this one years ago, for my junior high sweetheart

You're heaven.

You're it.

You're everything.

I'm me.

We're us.

I'm you.

And I love you.

bus

I’m standing in the bus and I remember I hate standing in busses. The black chick in front of me almost shoves her hair into my face. She smells like dry paint. There’s an open seat behind me but no one wants to sit there because there’s a drooling hobo sitting next to it. He looks embarrassed, which makes this moment the first time I’ve ever seen an embarrassed bum. Traffic’s a bitch. Outside it snows like it’s the apocalypse and then the hobo farts. I prefer the smell of dry paint. Two kids, old enough to use the potty but young enough to forget, are jumping into each other all the time. They block one of the doors. At the next stop, they keep an old man from hopping on. He looks frightened at the two hyperactive black kids and backs away, crawling back into the bus stop shelter. The bus starts moving again and I look at the old man and I think he’s crying. A second later I realize it’s just a snowflake melting. I turn my head. The black chick’s hair tickles me. I wonder if it’s her shampoo that smells of dry paint, or if she just hasn’t washed her hair since she renovated her apartment with her lover. Those were good times, the chick must think, and she rubs her hand over her belly. She probably doesn’t know her man is doing an anorexic gypsy with a strap-on dildo. Shit, I’ve come to the point I’m inventing stories about randoms. Where am I? Fuck, still a long way to go. The parents of the hyperactive monsters don’t pay attention to their offspring. Or to eachother. They stare in front of them, into the hypnotizing snow. The woman probably wonders who her first client of the day will be, and the man remembers the time he almost emigrated to Detroit to pursue a professional career in hip hop. If Greg hadn’t been involved in a car accident he would’ve done it. But now he had to take care of his brother, which is why he couldn’t run away from his pregnant prostitute wife. Fuck Greg. The kids have started to bang their heads against each other. I scratch my balls. Because of that, the back of my hand rubs the black chicks ass. I immediately get a hard-on. I take away my hand and discretely turn my pelvis so that my cock and her ass connect. Fuck me this is hot. The bus stops again, the doors open and she pushes the kids away and gets off. Damnit. I look at the prostitute and lose my erection. This bus is taking too long.

smile relentlessly

You smile and look at me.

Stay. Stay forever.

We will conquer.

We could.

You look at me and I smile.

Evening neon and no starry sky

But the night is clear like rain.

I fell.

I smile and look at you.

Picture perfection is up for grabs.

Remember this, this night.

And forever.

I look at you and you smile.

Relentlessly.

Come and find the world in me

I held your head up high

When bright colours came to claim our night

And like you said your farewells, “goodbye”

You could not look at me

“It’s not right, all of this”

I muttered to my pale reflection

“And all I can feel is fingertips”

These wounds for worlds to see

“Come and find the world in me”

My Words

I gave in. I will keep my blurty and my msn space, but I couldn't resist the temptations of these blogs. What I will post here are my words, nothing more. It won't be so beautiful all the time, it won't be extremely lyrical. It will just be things I've written. Bad things, mediocre things, good things. Old things, to start with. English, Dutch. Words.