TwoHundred And SeventyNine

Everything's Packed.
And ready to go.

So This is fairwell, The kind that Juliet Said To Romeo.

TwoHundred And SeventyEight

I said to Someone that I wanted to End this,
End My Blog.
Well, This Blog.
I feel it's time.
I want it to Be like a Diary.
A New Journal to a New Year.
Mhm.

TwoHundred And SeventySeven

'You're still my friend so it's Impossible to Hate You'

TwoHundred And SeventySix

Please don't Talk of Love.
Do not Think of it.
Or Write of it.
You can Not Want it or Demand it.
Please do not Insult it, or Waste it's Time.
Do not Throw Your Body at it.
Can You not Describe it, can You Leave it Be?
Delete what You've pretended. Delete it.
Do Not Kid Yourself On.
Do Not Kid Them On.

For I have known You, and You cannot Love No One But Yourself.
And You Know It.

TwoHundred And SeventyFive

Hands are Limp and Tongue is Tied.
Hair hangs loose and The white T has blood on it from Bitten Lip.
The bedsheets tangle around Boney Ankles.
Sharing Hot Breath, leaning on Flushed Cheek, Lips Parted as if Beginning to Whisper.
Air is stuffy and Sleep is the One and Only.
Hip Bones above Boxer Shorts , Soft Skin in Dull Shaddows.
Eyelashes resting on Angled cheek, Thick and Long.
Remembering.

TwoHundred And SeventyFour

The Stars are Not Wanted; Put Out every One;
Pack up the Moon and Dismantle the Sun.
Pour Away the Ocean and Sweep up the Wood,
For Nothing Now Can Ever Come to Any Good.

TwoHundred And SeventyThree

Can I wear Your Joggies to Bed?
- Haha Sure, Why Though?
Because I like the way they Smell.
- What?
You know, like Your Bed covers and Your Sleepiness.
-If it makes You Happy.

He Smiles Then.