Dominic Riccitello

And I went into the new year loving myself a little less, but a little more where it actually mattered.

I love you, but I__ more in love with myself and that__ the problem.

He wasn__ a good person, but I painted him to be and since I painted it, I believed it.

Hallucinations aren__ always out of the ordinary. How do we know we__e not hallucinating if everything seems plausible?

They always come back, but we don__ always answer.

I like the chase, scavenging and how we unravel. Standing naked with all my pores at the door. Waiting for a response, a love, someone to call my home. Where my emotions graze the air and I__ lying half past gone.

I smell him in intervals, in varieties, in ways I don__ quite understand.

He wasn__ my boyfriend, but he was something. Someone who made a positive impact on my life regardless of the negative. He changed my perspective for the better and made me who I am in this very second. I appreciate, cherish, and thank him for it; and I will for this life and into any life that may come.

I realized I loved him after everything went wrong so I wallowed in self-pity and prayed I could wake up.

You want to know what I loved about him? Everything. From a freckle on his ass down to his undying selfish need to always be right.

I don__ want content. I want slight fear. Anxiety. I want a longing devotion for a twist of absence. The feeling of complete isn__ quite pleasing.

People love the facade of a perfection relationship because perfection seems alluring. What they don__ realize is perfection is terrifying.

I loved everything to anything to everyone who surrounded him. He was perfect. A delusion with a sweet melancholy taste. He was crazy, but he was my crazy and inside, everything felt right.

It was our first date and I asked what his favorite movie is. He asked if I__ judge him, but instead of judging him I just loved him.

I worked with him in a way where there was no need to align. We felt and the feeling was simple but complex. It was the intensity in our grasp and when it was done, it was done.

I touched him. From brain to body, in ways I couldn__ quite understand. But he did and for him, that was all that mattered.

It wasn__ worth it, but at the time it was. And that__ all that mattered.

I write in seconds. I don__ stop. I don__ think. I simply write and when it comes, it flows and it makes sense because it__ genuine. I don__ understand thought-out poetry. It doesn__ seem real to me.