-and so i spend my days without you,
pulling out my hair,
biting my tongue,
praying i never lose you permanently.  
darling, there's an unsatisfiable emptiness that gnaws away at the tissue inside my chest like an illness,
it beats on the backsides of my ribcages, and plays music against my spine.
but, when you're around me it's almost like your presence scares the emptiness away-
i feel myself again.
never leave me for this long ever again,
i think i'd miss you too much to function properly.

I think we're stuck in a perpetual, comfortable, beautiful state of
"I don't know".
What we have is a gorgeous free fall,
A comfortable conundrum of
Messy kisses,
and
Confused hands,
and
Very good acting.
We've gotten so wonderful at pretending;
At turning ourselves inside out for each other to find new places to explore.
But, somehow, I love how beautiful I've let this mess become.
I love the unsaid words,
I love this little universe we've built for ourselves.
I love our little "I don't know".
We've made something so incomprehensible even I can't find the words for us.
But, I've made it home, I suppose.
And I'd miss it if it went away.
-I love our little enigma.

When i'm with him it's like my ribs are being bent back and inside out like paper clips. When he cradles my face to kiss my mouth, it feels like my skull's being peeled back like an orange and he's trying to get inside of my thoughts and pick them open like pulp. When he kisses me, it's like he's sharing his deepest secrets with me, like i'm the only person with hollow lungs to fill; but his secrets are like smoke and they fill me like i'm a chimney. I feel so heavy when i'm with him, like he's put lead inside my veins and dropped me in the ocean. He doesn't understand that my ribs are made of steel and concrete, and my skull's made of galaxies with stars full of incomprehensible universes. My lungs are not hollow; they're full of tissue, and fibres and they're pink with blood and lust for oxygen; i am no one's chimney. And no, my veins are not buoyant; but drop me in the ocean and i'll sink like a submarine. There was a time when i found his painful affection unique and wonderful, like a glass of *****. but he's been killing me like rubbing alcohol instead.
Darling, i seem to have realized that dying is more fun when you do it with someone you love; and i do not love you.

everything about you comes in different shades of fog,
and the deeper we fall into one another, the thicker the confusion becomes.
"i love you"
-but which way?
"I need you"
-but how much?
"please don't go"
-but where do i sleep?
we're never together, but we're always
together.
i never know if this makes sense; if we make any sense at all because,
we're consistently, inconsistent.
Ironically enough, the most consistent, straightforward thing in my life is how inconsistent and jumbled we are.
and, part of me wants this fog to clear.
part of me wants us to be completely translucent.
but we're stuck in divine translucency that i continuously get lost in.
i'm scared to label us,
because it means i could lose you.
i'm scared to be transparent.  
i'm scared to see you with the lights on and my eyes wide open.

how does one delete?

i'm not at all a morning person, but,
could i be your morning person?
i could get up at seven on sundays and make your coffee.
and be up at 2am on wednesdays to hold you while you sleep.  
and,
at 4am,
when you feel like your worlds getting too small for all your thoughts,
i'll wake up,
and stay up,
so you can let your imagination over flow into mine just to stop it from spilling out onto the floor.
i'm not a morning person; not at all,
but, could i be your morning person?