Throwback though it's not Thursday,
I miss you like it's mondays.
Your skin that
touches mine,
from green to blue
yours to mine
ours that i treasure,
hours that doesnt need
to be measured.

the generic sounds of
car horns and screeching tires
mixed with the stagnant smell
of smog and cigarette smoke
linger around the perimeter
of my mind

finely placed cracks
along my heels
and lips
drip bits
of me
onto
the
street
leaving behind
my skin
as if to say
"This is me, world. This is all I am."

the washed up,
frail bits of humanity
struggle and fight
to stay valid

but nobody remembers, anymore

and if it weren't for dysphoria,
I doubt we'd feel much at all

we are merely reminders
of yesterday
and without our sweaty hands
shaking each other
there will be no way
to tell what is
and what has been

i thought i was dead when i woke up in my own *****
and my head ached with pains of you; leaving me unable to remember what day it was

it's been sixteen months since i've tasted you

but your flavor still staggers over my tongue
and leaves a stale and unpleasant numbness in my mouth

i've crashed my car too many times
on nights when i was heading straight toward your headlights
and waiting for that sound
to let me know it was true

we were a disastrous and destructive stampede of animal feet
plowing through the only things that should have mattered
and leaving them in the dust

i've killed you too much and too often

and without you breathing by my side
how am i supposed to know that i'm still alive?

Once in a blue moon
I find myself
back at a familiar place
of passive-passive-aggression

Things I could say
remarks bitter-
-sweet in my ears
ash in my mouth

no one likes that flavor
so I  actively-actively-digress
I choose to choose
a path selfless

alone I sit
my bitterness is my own

You —
i see your
eyes
glimmer
through the night
as it sparkles
like
the starry night
filled with
lights
that every time you
look at me
it makes me
shine
so
bright
every night.

(g.s.b.)