Somewhere further upstream
There's a boy much like me,
Maybe younger.
As I sit
I watch as the water dances under me,
I think of who he may be.
Maybe he's crying.
I think I want to,
I'm not really sure anymore.
I'm tired
Of being an emotional cannon
With one flake,
too many of gunpowder
And a wick a smidgen, too, short.
I think entirely, too, much.
I ask, too, many questions
I answer, too, few.
I'm lost in my head.
I think it's good for me.
I spent a weekend, too, drunk
and, too, high to remember it clearly.
But it was fun.
I wish fun did pay bills.
No one would be so miserable.
I wouldn't be sitting here thinking about them.
I'm, incredibly, selfish.
I only really want for myself.
At the same time,
Maybe ever so slightly after,
I want for others but only after myself.
That applies to a lot of things.
I'm, too, **** young
To be thinking about dying alone.
I'm, too, young
To be feeling this empty.
I feel things in waves,
Not the waves that children play in,
Not even the waves white water adrenaline junkies chase
Waves like the tsunamis
The ones that swallow cities.
Waves that strip the shore for miles
Waves that flood the area with a forty inches of water.
When I'm empty,
*******
I'm empty.
If I removed everything in space
down to the atoms
That would be a pretty good metaphor,
I think.
I dream of having nightmares
My nightmares are of having dreams.
I'm lost.
I'm at a loss.
I have lost.
I know my self-esteem is ****.
I don't need to be reminded.
I try so hard to be someone
That I would notice.
Someone I could fall in love with.
Someone like you.
I know it's a lot of pressure.
I know you're avoiding that.
I know you want to be alone.
I know that we need space.
I wonder if the boy is still there,
the sun is setting
It's getting cold.