"No."
"Um."
"Maybe."
"I'll see."
"Wrong."
"Another time."
"Don't."
"Shut up."
"Just- ugh."

Women.

But a man.

Would someone care to classify
A cadaver six feet below.
What if he arose
In the form of a ghost.
Is he a man
Is he a monster.
Is he in the gray which not men nor monsters touch.

Does he have a home
One not so cold.
Could he ever love,
Could he ever trust
Another.

Is he cold,
Or is he warm.
Do you measure that in degrees
Or personality.

Would someone care to measure
His heart.

And surprisingly respectable. I miss that summer.

Seeing people capitalize the light of morning.

It will be my own hands.

Narcissistic, overconfident, underskilled and I.

You're going to read this wrong,
Every single one of you.
Because you are not me,
And you cannot see what I'm saying.

No amount of stressed syllables in these lines can
ever describe what it means.
To me.
Why I wrote it.
Why I let you read it.

You will never understand
My understanding.

And that's okay.

The salty ocean air bit his ears.
The sea was angry.

I'm not like you.
Stay there.
Go away.

Silence.

He turned around and walked.
She would never let him truly kiss her.
But his lips had been all over that skin.

I'm done.
You won't let me in.

He felt something crack inside him.
Like a plank of wood shattering.
He felt the shrapnel.

*Medic...

Hey.
I have a question.

*Go for it!