i must have spiders eating at my brain or some ****
because at this point even english dont make sense
all i know is that feeling of paranoia
that shameful fear of the dark
and what awaits inside it

I think of your hands
Dimpled knuckles
Dotted like staccato

I think of your smile
Teeth pearly
Waxen like ivory

I paint you in your glory
your brows furrowed together in annoyance
your surly gaze- ever mischievous and glassy
your eyes upturned like crescent moons

you are lunar, sweetheart.

untitled, i can
never find my ******* words
the void air thickens

I can't sleep
I blame it on the spiders
That wind thin intricate
Webs of thoughts
Through my head

you feed me by hand
I don't care how little
or how much
because this is the most delicious thing i've had in a long while.
you are at fault for
the overflow of trepidation collecting across my tongue that accuses me
the mess i've made of my head assuming.
I have equal fault and take the guilt as it comes
like when you benefit me with conversation
shower just enough discipline and attention
to guide me slowly but surely
steady
or when i procure my own fantasia
blissed in my own imagination
anticipation
curiosity
of what satisfies your appetite.

I am excessive
Like the incessant honk of the train blazing down highland
Like the rain when I've conveniently left my umbrella home.

I do not know how to form a balance
Organize chaos
Tidy the mess that is I

I gorge and tarry

i call kecia and she wants to know what's up
but i cannot fit my truth around a mouthful of tooth decay and nicotine.
i want to tell her that **** ain't as sweet as this swisher smoke
that some of this **** is too hard to swallow
so i thought i'd choke
"is that all?" she asks
and no it's not but what the **** else can i say