Memnoch,
My Devil,
I don't know what to do.

You speak of lies,
You speak of life,
And I know you speak of truths.

A uniformity in expectance,
A subconscious wait.
My mind knows it's coming
Like some kind of date.

Her words,
Be they good or bad,
Are expected,
If only a tad.

2 AM,
My body wakes
It's so ******* late
Will it come?

I wait.

And I sort of fell in love with plastic cups.
The ability to fall, and never break apart.
Because, as for me.
I'm just a glass positioned a little to close to the edge of the table.

"I just don't wanna"
Tyler said.

I guess he didn't wanna.

But Christ I could wanna.
I can wanna so hard.

You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.

No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.

You will never understand
My understanding.

And that's okay.

I don't dream of her
But I do.
I really don't want to.

She shows up sometimes,
I get excited, turned on.
But I am reminded,
Your good days are far gone.

Always and never.
Two words of weight.
With you,
I prefer hate.

"No."
"Um."
"Maybe."
"I'll see."
"Wrong."
"Another time."
"Don't."
"Shut up."
"Just- ugh."

Women.