but I know what i dont have
i don't have the time
the walls are closing in on me
these walls the ones i created
the closer they get the less i can breathe
roaming in circles gets me nowhere
but its all i know how to do
by now the only thing i can do
is stand here and let my dizzy mind
get crushed by these four towers of impending doom

i can't do most of the things I used to
my sensitive stomach is now back to the state it seems to belong in
tied in never ending, always tightening knots
4 hours, 3 hours, 2, 1, half an hour
I go until im numb and nearly collapsing
eyes glazed and burning feeling as though
they'll crack at any given moment
because I can't do most of the things I used to
a hot cup feels like it can destroy me
but the stinging and lovely burn seems to reside in me
like something that was meant to be all along
old habits do die hard, eventually at least
but now I know what the decay can do
it simply brings out whats even worse next spring

im not in the mood for meaning or purpose or tears or emotions
not in for all that this time
i want something quick and easy
so i can carry on and you can go back to ignoring me

fire engulfing the combustibles
the soft flickering of red and orange sparks
gentle, but powerful
the smell of charred oak filling my nose
a wave of light, one after the other
lingering warmth on my skin
as if i could ever replicate
what it felt like to be beside you

fire provides us warmth, light,
perhaps a vague sense of security in the hardest nights
but come too close,
and the fire
will burn
you.

The yuppies are by the
  Cotto Café, asking those
not to call them hipsters.
  An auburn feminist drinks
Mexican blend, black, while
  reading Margaret Atwood.

I gave up smoking, I say,
  about a month ago.
No one really listens, which
  I sometimes find comforting.

After I walk my isolation off,
  I stumble into a Taco Bell;
one of those hybrids: this time
  KFC. The cashier is curly in the
way that broken legs are curly.
  Her eyes are green but I dare
not objectify her, I hope I don't
  say out loud, because I fear
nothing more than being
  patronizing.

Construction loudly stutters
  and cars squeak and shush.
On this griddle of a sidewalk,
  I feel alone. Vehicles vroom
while I stand silent, a monument
  to my generation.

are what i feel when my hands tremble as i pick up the phone
my heart pounds so hard i hear it in my ears as i decide what to do
i pray that you dont answer that i can leave you a message
i dont want to hear your voice i dont i dont i dont
i dont because i know that if i do
ill begin to shake
not shake how i do when im cold or angry but instead
ill shake how i do when im terrified
because the thought of seeing you hearing you merely being around you
it makes me shake so violently
like an iv filled with pure anxiety was stuck into me
yet i talk to you i laugh with you and im around you
not all that often rarely actually
but even still i feel ***** after being near you
and not everyone will see it but the hands.
my hands
will begin to shake.