Shaking limbs and rumbling stomachs
Poor vision and cold toes.
These are what I have to keep me through the night.
I know not where they came from
Or why they've come for me.
They are here
As an elite task force
Created to bring malaise and confusion to their victims.

I don't know why they came
And I don't know who I am
And I don't know anything.

Forgive me.

Dear Pablo,
I see your poem, and raise you another.
For see, I too can write the saddest lines tonight.
They will not have your beauty, but they will have your phrase.
Or, a reverse of it.
For while your love has departed, I still stay.
You see, the truth is this:
He loves me, and sometimes I love him too.
He loves me desperately
In the way that a sailor clings to an unyielding buoy.
He loves me constantly
In the way of the sun in a drought.
He loves me
And sometimes I love him too.

Pablo, if your love loved you not
Why would you desire her still?
You say you love her no longer, but maybe you love her.
Why do you do this?
Why do you not realize there is surely someone else
Who will love you, too?
Why are you unwilling to see
That if she loves you not
She is not worthy?

I've been out of breath all day
Maybe I went jogging in your mind?
I don't understand pickup lines, I just miss you.

You will soon find another girl.
One who is worthy of your affections
And who doesn't tempt fate at its every turn.
A better girl, a braver girl.
And I know I will have to let you go.
I won't be able to sit with your at two a.m.
And listen to music with you
And have real conversations, which are so rare in all the others.
I won't be able to feel your fingers trace patterns in my hair.
All of you touches will be hers
And all your words will be spoken to her.
I know this
And I don't know if I'll be able to handle it when it comes
But I do know that while I have you
I will feel every minute, minutely
And try to extend every second into eternity.
Please let me.

He said to me
One needs to know where they're going in life
To know where their writing's ending will come from.
I have a vague idea of where I will go in life
(Whether or not that's where I want to go...
Is an uncomfortable question.)
But my poems always end
Unfulfilled
Unsatisfying
Abruptly.

Is that some sort of sign?

Unceremoniously awoken, too early, by nature.
Sunlight infiltrates my eyelids
Even my darkness is a warm golden tone.
My head pounds
And my stomach gurgles.
My body seems to be being punished
For the delight I take in Texan brews
But my mission was accomplished.
I am understood now
And that's all that matters.

Your three a.m. words intoxicate me
More than Jack Daniels.
Your clever phrases
And beautiful insights
Make me crave to know your soul.
You know me  more than most anyone
Though I've only known you for days
And you neither judge me nor praise me.
I'm well aware that you are what I need.
Why must you keep testing me?