I am too full.
At capacity.
Feeling
seeps from my seams like
radiation from a faulty nuclear reactor.
Meltdown.
A slow motion disaster.
You have a death wish
I'll do the trick, but something
else might **** you faster.

You are so empty.
So impotent.
Like trying to start a fire when
the wood is wet.
Like soil devoid of nutrients.
Like a house no one has lived in.
Curtains drawn across your eyes like something is hiding, but
open those shades and there's nothing inside you.
Just uncomfortable silence
Unending.

Honestly,
you meant nothing to me.
You were just a lie I told myself so that I could sleep.

In complete truth,
I meant nothing to you.
There is no meaning in anything that you do.

We wandered the night aimlessly.
The children of street-urchin-anarchy
sacrificed to the detrivores
of the sky-high metal labyrinths.
(For fear they’ll devour the living)

I remember it vividly.
The iron foundry air
cut like a razor through my sweater skin.
The concrete beneath my feet
swallowing the warmth like a vacuum.

Then you wrapped yourself around me like
a Mylar blanket.
And seeped into my skin
in a cosmic osmosis of lost souls.
For a moment we were home.

Only a moment.

We were thin white plastic blowing in the wind.

Restlessness,
My oldest friend
Pulls me from my bed.
3am.
A lonely pilgrim searching
For a holy land.

Finding nothing but
The light of dying stars.

I left at first light.
Packed my bags for the 23rd time.
(Or was it the 24th?
I've lost count.)
I went south,
To a sad little factory town
Where I spent part of my adolescence.  

I thought it would be interesting to see if
The townies still remembered me.
If their *****-soaked brains had
Retained the memory of the strange
Little homeless girl with crooked hips.  

I have changed quite a bit.

And I've just seen the medicine man,
He knows who I am.
I saw the fear in his eyes when he came in.

To him I am
A ghostly amalgam
Of memory and imagination.

A dream.
A nightmare.
Something he never thought he'd see again.
He walks right by me without a second glance.

I let him pass.

I only exist in the rear view.
Just a minor case of déjà vu.

My twenties came
And buried my mind in a shallow grave.
  But it's okay.

It's okay.

They say damaged goods wont keep
Without a refrigerator
anyways.

Let it spoil.

Complex PTSD made even more complex by frequent bouts of mild psychosis.
Neurosis.
Impulsivity.
Mood swings.
Suicidal tendencies.
Inconsistent personality.
Writing uncontrollably.
Questionable hygiene.
Obsessive pineapple eating.
Veganism.
Atheism.
Humanism.
And I have a horrible sense of direction.

Wait,
What was the question?

The lonely little girl in me
Wants to hug the scared little boy in you
Until you stop being scared and I stop being lonely.

But this is a grocery store.
And you are a stranger buying cauliflower.