I thought I was over you,
Then I looked into your eyes,
And wasn't so sure anymore.

My desperate attempt to avoid being bored.

My shallow attention isn't the problem.

My exception is sleep, not because I'm lonely, or sad.

My mind finds no meaning, nothing worth my time.


So my time is worthless too.

I don't need to be happy, I don't need to be anything.

So anything will do.


But that wasn't enough for you.

I couldn't answer you then, and I sure as hell can't now.

But I know that your response would be just as cold as this stone.


My self-aware state of mind has grown rusty.

My tell tale signs were erased.

My exception is sleep, not because I'm lonely, or sad.

My mind finds no meaning, nothing worth my time.


So my time is worthless too.

I don't need to be happy, I don't need to be anything at all.

So anything will do.


But I've grown tired of speaking.

I don't notice any reason for it.

But I don't notice much at all.

I've never been good at
Being touched.

Though the fingers
Of endless suitors
Have traced incomparable
Lines of affection,
They all stroke
The same wounds.

New hands feel like
Recycled lullabies,
Humming promises
Of a new melody,
Singing a remedy for
My impassivity.

Whether words fall
Passionate or
Fearful,
Endearment lines my lips
With an expiration
Long enough to convince me,
But short enough to leave me.

Reminding me:
The disintegration of
Indifference
Remains
My prerequisite
For destruction.

So before you
Touch me with
Promises of a new
Orchestration,
I'm already marking the
Days until you leave.

Because my skin
Is tired of
Intruders hidden
Behind momentary
Infatuation.

So keep your hands to yourself.

"Love is in the air"

That's probably why I'm suffocating.