And you find yourself
In the throes of madness

Surrounded by warm, warm bodies

Yet still
Entirely alone.

So,
My shirts are ragged and I
Drink too much on many occasions and I
Often reek of cigarettes and untold lies and I
Can't seem to keep myself steady for more than a minute but
I

Can write a love poem that'll make you go to pieces
And I
Will calculate the distance to the stars and find out how to launch you there
And I
Won't rest until I see it completed.

Sure, I
Can't control a sentence for more than a few words and I
Barely know my thoughts and I
Am a rambling, insecure mess and I
Don't know where I came from, but
I

Can help you find a home here amongst the shadows,
And bellow out your name so it infinitely echoes

i feel like i am the only one who gets upset about how quickly the earth moves and it took a lot of time and a lot of people to sit me down and explain why i can't feel each second and each rotation like a carnival ride and i think messing with my placemat at the dinner table asking why we all don't get dizzy was the first time my family made me feel stupid. this isn't poetry as much as not being able to sleep but when you're a writer i doubt there's much of a difference. things go over my head a lot so i always ask people to be blunt with me but sometimes the force trauma hurts so bad i want to throw up honesty and i can't admit that i like beating around the bush better than knowing exactly what's happening and being able to cross off and narrow down like a game where i never learned how to deal with feeling genuine emotions for other people because there is a strange comfort in ambiguity knowing that even though things change all the time and the earth spins at a million miles an hour that's not the reason why im sick

You know this is all yours,
I mean,
Who else
Could it possibly be for?

Your breath
On my neck as
You surprise and embrace me.

Your hair, parting itself from your scalp
And leaving traces of you
In my bed.

Your eyes
Fixed on mine as you tell me of something
You've grown to admire.

Your hands
Clasping mine as we wander and explore
Through the seasons.

Your body
As it gyrates to the rhythm of your turntable
As we're dancing.

Your words
as they have fallen from your pen onto
Your notebook's pages.

Your smile
Hydrating me from across a table
As we sip coffee and talk art.

The smoke
As it slips from your cigarette
And you tell me of days gone by.

Some knowledge
That these could be things
You wish to acquire with me.

I didn't need
A soundtrack to my melancholy,

I tell the teen

Slamming a solo
On his keyboard in the subway