i coordinate this kind of mess

i think edward scissor-hands is beautiful.
the cuts on his face, drew me in when i was little.
i still wonder what that means.
what crazy chemical let go in my brain to allow this.
what beginning did i have.
what past did i bring with.
and where...oh where, am i going?

my hands, my eyes, my bones, are starving.
my soul is the same.
i'm avoiding the drop.
sink or swim.
treading water.
shallow water.
far more.

what else is there to say.
it takes a hell of a lot more to complete this.
far more.


how much longer, boy?
how much longer do we need to wait.
my insides know just where i belong. i can feel them.
every night, like we used to do.
in my head, that's the story that plays.
the music beats...melodies..
on and on.
on and on, we go.

i love you. and i miss you.

what else is there to say?

i love you. and i miss you. 
what else is there to say?



far more than we can take.