I want in.

I want in.

In on your consciousness

what makes you tick

float

fly -

fall.

I wanna know

exactly

what fucks you uop

so that you'll stand there

with the same dark look

on your face

as I've had in my heart

(if that's not too cliched)

for all this time.

I want in.

In on your mentality.

what burns you

hurts you

what brings tears

to those gorgeous dark eyes

I wanna make you cry

want to feel you tremble

and laugh softly in your ear

as I promise

between hard bites

and gentle kisses

that everything'll be all right.

I want that power,

that control.

I want in.

In on what makes mayhem

appear on that calm

(too calm)

exterior

what'll put chinks in the glass mask

end the facilitation

of this facade

(because I love the way that word looks)

what will return you

to regulation mode -

hit control and some combo of

computer keys

to fix this problem.

I want in.

In on the secret that you've been keeping

hiding

holding

like it's something you've never shared

before.

I want in

on the madness

the muchness

the mindless

that you spend your days with

tripping over glass-shod

skies

and pieces of plastic minds -

those people you can't stand to be around

to laugh around

exist around,

but who you fool around with

because you're good at it.

You're good at that game.

I can't play People to save my life

or yours

and I wouldn't.

I play secrets

and promises

and I play persons,

one being at a time,

each against himself

or herself

until she's in love with me,

worships me,

thinks the world of me

dies because of me.

When he's existing because I let him,

give him enough confidence -

self-worth,

self-import

that he thinks he can face anything

as long as my words have got his back.

They wanted in.

But in on a scam

doesn't give the same

level of rush

as in

on what you think is real.

Not the same as the in

I want in

In on you,

what makes you fall apart,

because I want in

on the pieces you leave behind.

Violated.

The best part - the only part? - is that they won't know. No one will know, and it'll be a secret between the two of us. Something shameful, so she'll look the other way when I pass her table at mealtimes, and maybe I'll laugh louder than intended if she goes by.

The whole time, I waited for her to say something, to ask about the scars, since she drank in my vulnerability with hungry green-grey eyes. But she said nothing.

I wish she'd taken the breath to ask.

I wanted to tell her they were his marks, and maybe then she would have stopped.

Wake me up.

Wake me up when morning no longer lies

when the sunflowers don't worship

at the moon's side

anymore

When the whores in high school

take payment

for a profession

that is a label.

Just a sticker

that - if you stick them in water -

will float away.

Wake me up when love isn't a teenage word

for girls and boys

who play an advanced game

of Let's Pretend.

Like...

let's pretend we're destined

for each other;

we're perfect- we should know,

let's prove it

in the old dumpster behind school

where they get caught,

but not before she catches,

and a lifetime of problems open up.

Wake me up when the sun rises like a gem

instead of like a disk, on a chariot

driven mad across a sky

by a boy-child

gone crazy

on too little affection

and too few friends.

Until the earth

paid the price for insolence.

Wake me up when the ghosts of memory

are really dead

for a change,

and chances don't come

with numbers

and expectations,

like "this is your second chance;

better not screw it up"

because of course I will.

Wake me up when you think I can face

whatever tomorrow hasn't promised,

but is flirting with,

maybe showing hints of

like a ninth grader

falling into the Game with a

senior PUA.

A little too much leg,

and all because

she's underconfident

in her own abilities

and maybe yours,

where subtlety is concerned.