Why do you seem to exist in spite of me
The words below your image are a sad excuse for poetry
And your jokes are bland as ever
Why do you stand boldly on my platform
Seeming to dare me to look at you
Challenging me
I suspect a call for attention
Much like how I used to
But if I were to voice these suspicions
I'm sure I'd be looked down upon until I was laughing at my own self and how pitiful I had become
On the outside I'll beg of you to leave me completely
But I know that within me is still the constant plea that you will return and be better than when you last left

I was good at this once
The words came to me so easily
And I'd scribble them out in ink inside an old notebook
It's not so easy anymore
I stopped writing the words in physical form
There used to be so much to say that jotting it down was too time consuming
It gave the words time to run away
And for new ideas to cover up the old ones
Now
I've said so many things that I am almost raw
No longer a mystery
Just a rock of selfish anxiety
With the same old worries and thoughts carved in deep

I heard his name over the intercom
I knew I would
A boring name
I had strained to hear it
And though I expected it
There was still an unsettling knot in my gut
Though I can lust for others now
There is still
A longing
A yearning
For his familiarity

I know who he is
I can recognize him in a crowd
But when i try to remember what his face looked like
Gazing at me in a fond memory
It's as if he looks away before I can see
And I am stuck staring at a profile in my minds eye

Because of the departure of one person, I have decided to isolate myself
I am not alone
Yet I have decided to be
Why
It feels better
To be alone
And dwell on things that should have no meaning
To lurk near the presence of one I am better off forgetting
I could seek the council of those I hold dear for support
But I am afraid I have troubled them too often with dilemmas like this
And truly
It is no dilemma
But merely me gripping onto what I have lost for the second time

Your scent is stuck in my head
Like the chorus of a pop song

My words are no longer poetic
If they ever were at all
Now they're just a stream of me screaming my feelings
Or rather
Speaking them in a calm manner
Even if it's a thousand pleas
They will still be repeated with the same tone
I wish I could be more of a wordsmith
But all I can do is blatantly state how much I miss you
How empty it feels with you gone
How repulsed i am by the others touch
How terrified I am of losing more people
How shapeless all of my words are anymore
When did the words become a dependency rather than an art form