I block off my impulse like a covered ***.
I eat up my cravings like an emaciated fool.
I doubt all of my speech because the sound itself will only leave dust in my valleys.

I elevate the symptoms to a common rot.
I lash all of my feeling into a darkened pool.
I dart my attention to mundane lines of charisma that only lead me to potholes and drunken alleys.

The most beautiful lines are the ones I forgot.
But I can say that I long to unravel you.

And the chances.
I know I never had to play a part
In an addition of a circumstance to gently set us apart:
A desperate attempt to keep the fruit at the start
When all we really do is crave "finale".

Etching my movements in time as a sculpture would to stone.
One wrong scratch on the experience and the whole plan falls.
I try to memorize all of your countries and how they fit in and line up and how some of them surface only during times of dispute or sadness.

Many people dream this dream.
Many people hide.

I glanced in your direction through a screen like a steamed window, buffed for clarity, squinting for connection.

And no one has to know.
There's nothing to fear.

The music in your voice isn't the same as the tapping on my bed
Thinly resurrecting in course of the night.

I want to believe in the tug.
I want to believe that the struggle is somehow pulling me closer.
But more often I just want to hide.

I wanted to find solace in your moon
To taste the stars in your bloodstream.

The rhythm starts to slip abrupt
I stare at the floor and chug
Always right angles.
"I don't think I'm one of you,
                                                             one of yours"

She's searching for something to move her again.
She's searching for a way to bridge the gap.
To stare a bit closer.
To be seen.

I look around, and the smiling happy nodding faces have such big holes. Black. Their bodies energetic, but their eyes are gone. Flatlined.
I lean in close and block out
                              someone new,
                              they didn't say she looked beautiful tonight.

My heart is ******* bloated and I don't like it.

My chest opens and serves a swell of insects, the beautiful and dizzy kind.
The kind that fly in sync and tuning,
craving fire.
I walked for miles and miles, with a veil of wings and buzz and clustered intensity of my swarming
When my insects, they caught that spark
in the distance and rushed.
I see their trail and I follow.
The light you have surrenders my soul.
There's nothing I can do.

Over the distance and hilltops and historic buildings
I can see it glisten.
As the door exhales and my life of the day shuts
I whisper to a distant faith
Hoping that yours is out there
                                                      waking,
And not sending a last flight of experience
Through a window I've left open
                                                     and silent.