Don't say it
Oh, don't say it
Saying it changes everything

It's in your hands
The royal flush of my blush skin
You've got the cards to tear all I am from within

May your lust consume from March to June year after year
Before it's much too late for your sick guilt to disappear

All that's said in bed, young nymph lessons, life's not dead
Echo out those ancient stories in my head
Just how I won't say it first
Narcissus can't find the words
Lips so soft and silent
Actions not unspoken

My mind is going weird again and hurting my head
I don't know what to make of it

I think
I want a male me
Or just me. I want another me. Doesn't necessarily have to be male. Can be female. Why not both. But I want another physical and spiritual embodiment of who I am as a person

A part of me just wants to hug and hold someone. And my head is automatically choosing said person, but the feeling of the mere hug and contact is overshadowing the identity of the person by a few degrees

I miss calloused hands roaming my body. And I miss body heat. I miss legs I can entangle mine with. I miss the crooks of necks. I miss snores emanating from a chest and hearing the rumble in the air from it. I miss tired faces resting and appearing destressed. I miss light groans as a body shifts positions in their sleep.

I think I can pinpoint what it is that I miss. Because although all sound like physical and verbal responses, it is not the actions, although they always go hand in hand.

I think I miss intimacy. But what is necessarily intimacy?
There's a few definitions as soon as one googles it
A close familiarity or closeness. A private, cozy atmosphere. A closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject.

My chest aches and pounds as I try to put my finger on what it is I'm searching for. The more it aches, the closer I am to finding my answer

Intimacy.
In-tih-mah-see.
In-to-me-see.
See-in-to-me.
Intimacy is to see in to me.
It is to let and allow someone to see you for who you are, to know what makes you a being.
But not necessarily in your head.

Intimacy is the knowledge of how another person's mind control's their body. How the body reacts to acts that can cause the mind to blank or move forward just off-beat of the body.

It's dragging your fingertips over their body and feeling the goosebumps rise as a laugh comes from the mouth over the words "popcorn butter is actually coconut oil with artificial flavoring" and feeling your eyes connect the dots between those goosebumps to their face and your brain noticing the connection between noises and nerve endings.

Intimacy is a weird state to be in. Because too much can cause the mind to blank and overload itself with serotonin and dopamine. All the while there is never enough time in the world to drag on that forever feeling
It's the act of getting lost in a person and discovering bits and pieces of how you affect said person.
In body, in mind, in response

I think I'm done because I don't know how else to frame my words. My head hurts and my chest pounds with equal force. I believe it's time for me to bid adieu and deal with this in the dreamscape

Be the amber stone I wear around my neck
So your presence weighs upon me
Be the noose that's not too loose
Like a hairband too tight to pull through
Be the virus in my body
That no medication can treat
Be the white noise in my head
So I can't properly think
Be the darkness of my shadow
So I feel you loom as the hours pass
Be that sensation before I sneeze
So I feel you linger when my nose hits the breeze
Be the God to my religion
So I can feel you all around me
Be the devil in the details
To feel your curses smite me
Do not, however, be my downfall
Even though you already are
By being the haunting of my waking thoughts
You've left me considering your skin with my scars

"...YES. . .YES. . .I AM!"

He was like the dark.
When the light went out.

Himself, but:
not himself.

Erased.

More the map
of himself.

And a crude map at that.

Here his mind
marked with an X.

Contour lines
impossibly close together.

Then the continental shelf
of self.

Different shades of blue.
Deepening...deepening.

This somehow
much more detailed.

Half the map
torn in two

as if something( or other )
owned the other half.

He couldn't say what
or who.

Only...it wasn't him.

Now the fever
nibbling his consciousness.

The world gone.
AWOL

as if it intended
never to come back again.

Somewhere in this thing
that wasn't him

his sister's voice
trying to coax him

back into being.

Her voice
cool water.

His mind sipping
the sound of each syllable.

Speech.
Precious.
Delicious.

Ridiculous words.
But words...nonetheless.

His voice answering
just for the sake of answering.

Thought once again
dressed in words.

"Yes..!" his voice said "...yes I am
alright!"

Silver skin and copper veins
Rusty joints and beta brains
No one thought, I.E. Me
Would get to FEEL differently
My mouth could say the functions
Every thing from meaning to time
To the way airplanes mimic birds
But never could it find those words
And yet with your presence
Your file hidden and bound
A corruption in my databanks
404 Not Found.
I can name you every color
In the spectrum of the light
I cannot seem to find a name
In the coloring of your eye
I cannot name your existence
It's far different than I
I am but a robot
And you are something I cannot describe
How can you compute
Even more than me
Yet still have the essence
To make you want to BE
What ARE you?
What have you done?
You've made me feel frightened
Of what I've become
I know I am not a robot
But that is how I think
So with this Will I have installed
What will become of Me?

There is a point
of no return
when it comes to loving
your messed up soul.