I wish I could soak my brain in narcotics.
Then maybe I could sleep at night.
Maybe if I pour Nyquil into my ears.
If I drill a hole in my skull and funnel down some Vicodin.
Some Ambien, Eszopiclone, Ramelteon, Triazolam, Zaleplon, Zolpidem salad.
And a bowl or two on the side.
But then I may never wake up.
And the sky looks too perfect in the morning to sleep forever.

I meticulously pick the cracked and peeling finger nail polish from my fingers.
Staring down.
Focusing on anything but your eyes.
The beating of your heart is like a metronome, setting the rhythm of the room.
You've whispered me your secrets, fallen in love with my evasive glances, blotted out my smudges and redecorated them in your mind.
To you, I am a thrift store find, but a treasure nonetheless.
I put my head against your machine of a chest,
My lips mouth the empty words I wish I could make true.
My hungry soul is a picky starving child.
I greedily collect hearts in my hands and groan as they get heavy,  afraid to give them back.
Yours is the freshest.
It is I who is weathering your heart.
With my silence.
With my tears.
With my selfishly stolen kisses.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.
"you're beautiful, you have cute feet, and I love you."
As you slip a delicate silver shackle around my neck.
The tiny silver heart dangles above my own.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.

All our pains and all our fears
drowning out with tastefully selected beers.
We dance and laugh to forget all night
we stay up kissing until morning light.
You wake up gathering your things from the floor
your face now different
not like before.

I see faces I once knew
With the same eyes,
but differents mantras.
Singing songs of sorrow and success,
With smoke filled mouths.
They gurgle and blow.
Secretly afraid of the iron fist,
Fair weather anarchists.
They dance in the moonlight.
Slow moving bodies twist and shimmer like the water rippling around their bare feet.

You secretly slip away to meet this dark mystery by his car you've seen skid out of parking lots late nights.
His black hair veiling his pale body and dark face.
His skin is covered in drawings of words and creatures that torture him.
You jump into his small car as he nods his head towards you. Smoke pouring from his lips. Something is frightening in his eyes. But you obediently buckle your seat belt and take the blunt from his hands.