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You might be ****, even kind...
But I care not for your ego.
I might as well be blind.

You might be interested in many things.
None of which light my fire.
A hollow heart filled with empty blings.

I live to build and design.
Practicality is so hard to find.
I want to understand the world.
Very few share my mind.

I'm simply complicated.
And there is no shortcut to my desire.
I'm after the impossible.
But that is all I require.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
I'm thinking about lying in bed with you
Naked and I am bare
I am holding onto nothing
You no longer exist
We don't talk
I wish you'd grow up
Let's keep in touch
You're no friend of mine
We can never go back to holding hands
Imagine if I could actually count all the times I told you I was sober when I wasn’t
Think of how many lies I have told
And I wonder tonight where my heart is
This is not supposed to be unfelt
This numbness in me is a weight I cannot get off my shoulders
I should be crying
Moving and perhaps just a little upset
Or sad
But instead I have this straight face that shows the world I fear nothing
And truthfully, I do not know what I do
Nothing makes me cry
I do not feel anything but
Where is my mind?
by far the worst cruelty in love or affection or attachment is that it is involuntary,
when you care about a person,
they suddenly become a piece to your puzzle,
a part component of your being.
when they are absent from your life, truly a piece of your life is missing
a silhouette shaped wound, a metaphorically bleeding chalk outline,
the scene where a friendship died.
sometimes a person can come back,
but i think the wound can scar over.
it's shape distorts - their puzzle piece no longer fits the same
but with effort and will, you can make that piece fit again,
it will be tight in places,
it will feel odd and the image will not line up just right,
you will be whole again.
often they didn't ask for this, love is insanity that way, a kind of self harm
but volumes have been written on the stupidity or futility of love.
so we keep doing it, cutting and cutting. odd pieces here and there breaking us up,
fitting us back together. odd bits skewing the image,
the puzzle of our own life made occluded by the inclusion of others
people aren't meant to be islands to themselves.
but neither are they aren't meant to be filled with person shaped holes.
Rough ,Wet, Make it hurt
Sore in the morning
No time to flirt
No love, no whispers
Not even a kiss
Like animals, Mechanical
Tasting this
Bruises, teeth marks,
hickeys, thirst
*******, licking, Harder, grinding
The spot, Almost
Screaming, finding
Spasm, tightening
******, blinding
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