It's not my worst nightmare,
But it is high up on the list.
Maybe the fifth?

And it's running in circles,
And you're running around,
Shouting about how
We're both dying alone,
But together.
And how that's not the same
As dying alone,
Or dying together with someone.

I go inside,
But we're out of the good liquor,
And I'm not drinking the ******* Fireball.
Some Steve Carell movie is playing in the backround.
Tim and Sam are ******* on the couch,
As usual.

And I'm just alone.
You're all moving around me,
And you live your own miserable lives.
And I've outgrown you.

My writing used to mean something.
I promise.
But now I try to write
and then the keyboard is wet
and my eyes are burning
and the words don't come out right
I swear it used to mean something
but I don't know how to be eloquent
and I've forgotten how to articulate
and why
*why can't I find the same meaning?

I will wait for the one who feels like baking sugar cookies
For the one that smells like climbing trees
For the one that looks like a morning after sleeping in a hotel
For the one that sounds like smiling before a roller coaster takes off
For the one that tastes like swimming way after the sun has gone down
I will wait.

sometimes when i
look at you
i think,
maybe i was
born to tell you
how beautiful
you are.

maybe.

the music of listening
is filled with silence
silent songs of the ages
Written on the hearts
of all creation
the singing of the ancient
Poets.