I'm going to pour me a drink
and wait for the Dark Night
to lace his boots

That old bushwhacker has 7 wives
2 trucks with good tires
1 with a flatbed for hauling

In the morning I know
I'll find crumbs on my table
and mud on the floor

And that pint by my bed
that's mostly full right now
will be a big swig short

Nothing is going right
these days except that low-
down you know who I mean
and he's moving right fast.

Break me past my breaking point
Submerge me past the sea line
Suffocate my air, push my limits farther
Make loving you harder
Lace my life with confusion
Paint me a fictitious illusion
Tie my ankles and bind my wrists
Give me something to resist
I dare you to try like you have something to prove
I might just like it so I may just let you.

i fell in love through song,
through a girl like me
loving a girl like you.

i fell in love not in a heartbeat,
not in a breath.
these things take time.
i take time.

i fell in love through a song
i played on repeat three days ago.
i fell in love with you
through words i cannot hear.

You always think you are over it, until you see him again, with another girl in his arms. And you're brought back to every time he said "I love you" and to the day he said "Maybe we're better off without". Accompanied by the feeling of never being good enough and always trying too hard.

I despair as a writer
when I think
that conversation,
the spark of humanity,
our golden embroidery
on life,

is unremarkable.

these days,
voices are
shallow melodies
with accents
on repeat:

I want you to listen
and believe,

but who really knows?

or is distinguishing
the repackaged
plagues of similar beliefs.
The differences
are basically the same
and it's time consuming
to critically think.

So exhausting

to feel
like I must hurry
to get a point across
before the nodding
glance to the black screen,

relieved of wondering:

Have you been listening
at ALL to my word
drawings and logic trees
derived from headlines,
videos, and abstract
malcontent?

I'm learning to be quiet,
or dramatic.

Nothing in between

but revising
a philosopher's tractatus:

Whereof one cannot speak,
One should remain silen..salient.