what started out as nietzsche and beer turned into mozzarella sticks and writing.

hand her a box at dinner, candlelit
handle with care, i tell her
of course she dismantles it
eyes start to ignite
shine like diamonds
out falls a
charm bracelet
inhaled grin plummets
false alarm face
stale gin, crumbs on her plate
lies to me
how beautiful, i hope it fits
check, please, make sure
so i don't have to get it fixed
naturally loops her wrist
perfect width, perfect size
she clinks the ornaments together
looks toward the door and sighs
despite the occasion
i find myself thinking
yeah, babe. me too.
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn

Quite a lovely read. Really enjoyed the last two lines.
"Pain or damage don't end the world nor despair, nor fuckin' beatings. The world ends when you're dead, until then you have more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back."