Left-My-Conscience

 I. As Jane turned her car into a street packed with other vehicles and people, she tried to rationalize the decision she had already made. Well, I’m here. No backing out now. Michael had begged her relentlessly to take him to this party tonight and, being easily persuaded by his adoring flattery, agreed. He was in her passenger seat, all eager energy and excitement. “Jane, you are so awesome. You are the best person. I owe you one.” Although initially resistant to his plea, the encouragement of her boyfriend Jake to “have some fun for once” had pushed her to say yes. And now here she was, parked in some strang

smiling eyes, arms outstretched large, warm hands gently pulling me in hovering lips teasing mine "i love you" fingers in my hair a cocky grin, half-heartedly concealed then finally your lips on mine.

i don't know exactly how to describe the way you make me feel. but it was when you were driving me home that i felt it. you were relaxed and leaned back in your seat, one hand on the wheel as we listened to music with the volume turned up. the bass vibrated the car and i held your free hand in both of mine, tracing your veins and listening to you sing along to your favorite songs. it was dark outside, but christmas decorations and headlights lit up our way home. at every red light you'd turn to me and say, "kiss me." and it was before that, when we were in the movie theater. and we weren't paying attention to the movie, you had your arm ar

hey, you. over there. you are sitting two rows ahead of me and one desk to the left. our chemistry teacher is talking about quantum mechanics but i am not listening. i, with my chin propped up on my fist, am staring at an equation in the white board written in blue dry-erase marker thinking about the color of your eyes. i am getting butterflies picturing scenarios in which i boldly kiss you after class. you see, it would go like this. the bell would ring. we would hastily shove broken binders into three-year-old backpacks and sling them over our shoulder with practiced perfection. we would stand in a cloud of bored teenagers and i would sta

it's very sad to lose someone who is right there. some people say people never change. i know they do.

it's the color of your eyes, and the shape of your lips, and the mole on your neck, and the smell of your skin. and it's your fingers on my back, and my hand in your hair, and your arms around me, trapping your willing prisoner. and it's how you hold me so tight you can hold me together, and how you lure reluctant truths from my weary throat, and how you kiss my salty tears away when i'm slipping from reality. it's the goosebumps when i run fingertips down your spine, it's the icy stare in your ocean eyes that melts when you're near me. it's the fire inside you, that flares up sometimes. but you put it out before we burn.

i fall in love with everything. like paintings and music and pictures and flowers and colors and animals and places and things and everything in this world and everything in space. but i do not fall in love with people. i fall in love with eyes and lips and hair and smiles and arms and legs and dimples and noses. but i do not fall in love with people. i fall in love with minds and words and brains and souls and thoughts and beauty and creation and good intentions. but i do not fall in love with people.

"mom, we're going to bed." "why? it's so early!" "we're tired. goodnight!" "okay... goodnight!" she comes back in the room, shuts the door behind her, and locks the door. glancing at me, she whispers, "you ready?" i'm sitting on the bed. we look hot. skin tight jeans, a shit-ton of makeup, and we smell like green apples. it feels like somebody just punched me in the stomach then tied it in knots. fuckthisideaishorrible. shitwe'regonnagetcaught. "... yeah." "okay. let's go." there's a CD playing from earlier, she turns it down so it's loud enough to cover the sound of our escape but quiet enough for her parents not to notice. eventually

hello, my name is... well that's not important. and i come from... well, i guess that doesn't really matter either. i'm the bad guy. i'm the villain, i'm the enemy, i'm the one you want to defeat. that's what you'd call me anyway. everyone else does, but that's only because they filter their views of me and then spread their half-truths to others. you'd get a limited perspective, you'd label me "evil" and get on with your life because it's too hard to figure out your own opinions and you'd rather have somebody else make that decision for you. so i'm sorry for this, but i'm going to take your prejudice and break it down. all the innocent peop