start menu>settings>control panel>accessibility options>"mouse" tab>use mouse keys

now you can use your number pad as crappy substitute for your mouse

its functional enough to get things done, but crappy enough to remind you how much you need an honest-to-goodness mouse.

You speak of Chemistry, or more specifically the lack thereof
i say it has more to do with symmetry than "sparks"
you know im strong enough; not Ph balanced perhaps?
i forgot the violin in my other pants.
you want time to slow. the borders to blur, fuzzy.
my brother sells that, $5 a hit, but i know its not what you mean.
though id never let on.
That channel's tagline should be "Television for the naieve."
swallowed a tad too much broken glass to sing to you from a stool and lost too much hair to style it like the walking commercial you masturbate to.
hed never love you as much as i would. hed never love you as much. he'd never love you. i would.
dont walk my dogs.wont bump into you at the park and sputter out apologies sweetly and unthreateningly from behind my glasses.
my accent would sound too fake.
your goosebumps are from being cold. inside or out, its none of my business. but heres my hoodie.
dont mind the broken zipper, just hold the flaps together at the chest like i do.
oh me?
your cheeks are rosy enough for the both of us.
i wont bore you with the medical jargon.

you the plane, me the firey explosion
my red and orange fingers creeping up your smooth and shiny body.
Both of us blindingly racing back towards Earth.
I can hear something screaming inside of you.
I want to reach in and fix it with my burning hands, but there isnt enough time. So I just hang on, licking my way up your steel frame.
I run my hot hands over your riveted stomach and you explode again, sending us into a tailspin.
We are dancing.
or I am.
i cant see your expression as i havent made it to your head.
but i know you HAVE to be feeling something as we twirl toward the ocean

*i wrote this for a beautiful cokehead chick whom i used to know*

Neon lit from a black and smoky sky
Fuzzy bordered, shaking your hair out in slow motion.
Weak knees all thud onto the tile and your
first miracle is a forced pennance.
Heirophants and Angels, too scared to look at you
in the eyes, each gripping the train of your billowing gown
just in case you decide to ascend back
to wherever it is they make people like you.
I imagine you crying pearls and bleeding wine.
Thick white lines across a table. Your last supper.
I'm not dead but now i feel that way
by comparison.

So how about a ressurection?

Snap your fingers. Make it my reality. ("Doubt yourself
in private": One of your 10 commandments)
Roll away the door to my tomb. Startle me
awake, paint my skin healthy and alive.
Leave something sexy under my bandages.

"If anyone can do it, you can", my first inklings of faith in years.

I'm praying you get all your kicks before they crucify you.
Dad knows theyll try.
But even when your t-squared carrion,
when the cut in your side spills water, I still know in my heart you won't stay dead more than a few days.