I wanted to write but poetry doesn't flow through me like it used to. It sits in stagnation. Just like the rest of me. We sit together with nowhere to go.

I am tired, but it’s a special kind of tired that seeps into the bones.

I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet

My addiction to online shopping stems from the very simple idea that I have something I’m waiting for so I can’t **** my self yet. So I rather be broke than dead, but throughout the wait I beat myself ******. Count the hairs on my head. Wishing for some kind of release. Receiving my package just to do it all over again.

I’m hugging you like I’m reaching out of this ocean I’m drowning in. I’m gasping for air with each tug of your body. Closer. I need you closer. Engulfed in you. I need to breathe you to survive. To **** it all in and then in the end let it all out.