I've conjured a clone
More successful, more attractive, more lively than me.
Taking them into my home,
I feed and take care of them, I polish their bolts and bits.
How I wish my bones could shine silver like their aluminum ribs.
I dream of being as productive and managing,
As talented, daring
Motivated, driven.
I sometimes get the urge to peek under my skin to search for foil bones,
But I crave more than the cold sensation of chrome.
   Tell me,
   Why do I feel this way?
   If I'm machine,
   Where will I go when you die?
   Where will I stay?
My dear friend, I do not have answers, I only have more questions for us to ponder.
However, I believe when I lay down to sleep
Your engine turns off,
And your gears stop turning.
When this happens do you imagine a dream?
Or do you imagine you are living?

There's a bubble in my chest I can't suppress
An eerie feeling of being watched when no one's around
The quivering under my sheets that screams "unrest"
So under the covers to faraway dreams I'm bound

It feels so real
So lovely and ethereal
The warmth of his hand in mine, my heart beating faster as he smiles so sublime
The overcast above sounding like love
And the grass is really greener and the water much clearer
The sky so bright with the wind just right
We lay on the ground, my legs tired from running around
He looks at me I look at him
I feel complete, and for once not so dim

Then I wake up
Feeling the warmth of his hand slip away, still seeing his smile as if he stayed
The horizon is grey with that somber blue hue
And the grass isn't as green, and the water not so clean
The sky is dim with a subtle, chilling wind
I lay on my bed, my mind tired from running around
I look at my hands and try to understand where I am
I feel incomplete, and once again still dim

Dots and dots                                                             ­ "Is it okay if I ignore  
Line my vision                                                           ­    Your text? It's not
I'm hoping to find my spot                                             Personal."
In your musky bedroom

Do you get high off this feeling?                                 "Don't worry,
Does your body become sweaty                                     I still love you,
Eyes get heavy                                                            ­       It's okay."
When you are certain of my displeasure?

These are the things                                                       "Won't you be mine?
I beg to hear when you swing                                          Don't worry,
Your hips on top of mine                                                    We're alright,
Love me until the day I die                                                  I don't love you."
                                                        "Goodnight."

I want to fly with you tonight
Through the clouds we'll take our flight
Under the finite light
Provided by the moon
But soon it will be gone
For its lover will be on
Us in a few minutes
So hold these seconds
Just like you hold my hand
Squeezing it softly
Saying
"I don't give a ****."

Don't go
I need you here so I don't get cold
Or else I'll shiver and shake until the sun awakes
Even then I can still see my breath take shape

Don't leave
I've never felt bliss like this
Every moment, every squeeze, every kiss
Tastes like everything I've been begging for

Please stay
These blankets aren't warm enough
Sometimes I imagine your body heat, it helps me fall asleep
I'm no better than when you're alone, but you fill the empty presence in my home

Folded and torn, yet you still play with it.
There’s not much left in the hazy hue you haven’t crumpled to death.
Do you like the vibration of the grains under your fingertips?
I’m sure the overlapping lines must get in the way of that sensation,
but still you trace every ****** polygon as if you were the embodiment of the proverb “if it ain’t broke, why fix it?”

Throw me out.
What use am I to you?
I’m the origami rock you can’t bring yourself to toss with the moldy leftovers you never cared for--even before they were leftovers.

“Ain’t that just the way?” you say to an audience of a mirror,
hoping a prophet will descend to correct you if you turn out to be wrong.
You’re so stuck in your ways, folding your papers and crumpling each piece until it’s unrecognizable from its original state.
For a progressive you’re quite a pessimist,
but at least you still have paper to fold with its woody grain you trace with your thumbs.

You
Where are you from?
We don't get along

Could
Be the dagger
You placed in my heart yet you

Bring
Me to a different
Point of peace

A
Pleasure I can't find
When down on my knees

Danger
In your eyes
I now realize

I
Mixed up my lies
For the truth this time

Never
Thought to think
About what you wanted

Saw
Signs but didn't
Care to know, was just being honest

Before
I make my depart
I must say, "I'm sorry I broke your heart."

I commit crimes against my body to test for happiness.
A feeling that
I'm not sure
I know
how to
feel.
Yet
there's something
I love
about the way
it feels to
feel nothingness cling to my insides like pure, restless butterflies.

Global Positioning System
Can you prescribe my symptoms?
I'm tired, I'm wasted, I'm used

Global Positioning System
Will you help me find my reasons?
For why I keep driving down this road

Yo, I don't feel okay
is that okay with you?
I'll back off, *******, do what I have to do
to make sure this sleepy Sunday goes swell for you.
But your actions are like rug burns,
not hurting for long--but still hurting

  I?
  I twisted your arm?
  You're not mad about that!
  Are you?
  You are?
  Give me your skin so I can fold it!
  Feeling your wrinkles under my calloused hands,
  it won't hurt, I swear!
  A lesson for you is what I bear.

I let this happen for one hundred years
until my pale flesh turned purple,
and my eyes blackened into squares as I saw Nyarlathotep slip out of your three tongues.
You begged for an apology I couldn't muster,
and in turn chafed your own foolish forgiveness in place of mine.

The human condition is a disease that has spread so far and wide that those once considered monsters have become afflicted

the smokey memories of Summer
fan on high, combatting heat waves
hair glued to the forehead from sweaty laughter
on the phone for one, two, three many hours
always laughing

but now the sticky fire is gone
noses are runny and temples are cold
dry knuckles chafe against a keyboard wanting to smell the same laundry detergent from a Summer back in time
drying eyes redden as rivers flow into the scorching season
a wet upper lip trembles at time lost
hours on the phone, or lying in bed alone?
always trembling