I miss the simplicity of a shared blanket, the intimacy of a shared pillow.
Moments of pure connection passed in dreams punctuated by waking, seeing you there and once again holding you close, but never close enough.
I miss your touch, the sound of your voice, the sight of your words.
I miss so many things about you its hard to explain that you're still here.
Not metaphorically but actually.
Is this how it ends?
Is this how we know its not going to work anymore?
Two people inches apart but a thousand miles away from each other?
I used to be able to tell the very moment you fell asleep, we were that in tune with one another.
Now I don't even know what time you wake up.
Before, before every change in your breathing would be enough to wake me. Not wake me to the point of consciousness but enough that I would be aware if it stayed changed or went back to normal.
Normal.
That's something that seems a long way off now.
I don't know if we'll ever see normal again and sometimes, just sometimes I'm not even sure I want to.
But then other times I feel like I would give anything to go back to normal, back to normal with you.
Normal.
Maybe for me, this is normal?
Who the **** knows anymore?
I'm just so tired.

something grotesque
something *****
something gritty

lipstick smudged across his cheek
blood running up, up, up
cold baby in a warm dumpster

***, and how it's remembered
when sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

something broken
something loud

a broken heart on the sidewalk,
crushed underfoot.

dear clark,
rip off your suit and save me already.
i'm lost.
love, lois

we are all just decaying
slowly, systematically.

there's even a formula
one cigarette: -1 year
one night stand: -2 years
one broken heart: -3 years

add in heredity, longevity genes, disease
and you're already halfway there.

if you take two half lives,
do you take a whole?

or is it exponential
only ending when you run out of digits?

I whispered to your heart,
but it mustn't have heard.

take me to Waffle House
(preferably late; it's best for people watching)
and enlighten me
about life outside suburbia, USA.

there is something stunning about listening to the world
escape through someone's lips.

rest in peace, armadillo pancake.
you died swiftly, thank goodness
at the hand of my left wheel
tail still attached
the plates of your back folded into you like wings.

farewell, my ridged armadillo splotch.
i think of you every time i dodge your smudge of color
and every time one of your brothers wanders by
walking clueless into the same predicament
stunned into pancake-hood forever.

alas.
rest in peace, my flat friend.
you will not be forgotten.