the irony:
killing time
ends up killing me

but hey,
it's nothing personal
it's strictly business

I lust for you
to think of me
daydream
of your scribbled greetings
of your silent longing,
your thoughts of me
(thinking of you)

thirsty
for some confession
of truth
something drastic, something new

in this stagnant springtime

colours, bright and harsh
yet they fall upon me
oh so dull
the wind avoids my skin
walking in a vacuum
so constantly numb
so ardent for
a crack in
the continuity

it subdues
any passion
even my hatred
for routine

letting me subconsciously
slip
into the nightmare
of the "american dream"
the steady pretending
this enmeshment
it infects
the very seams of
my existence

don't cry
don't cry
don't ******* cry

but be honest
stay honest
stay logical
but don't stuff your emotions
be honest
be logical
don't cry
be strong
but don't push back



just don't ******* cry

Five o'clock
Is naked
Is harsh
Is too bright in rusty eyes

Blame the night before
For the cruel punishment
Of one more day

Is it so exhausting
To exist?
Postponing final rest
To avoid ending it.
Then again
If it was final
I'd be rushing to the finish.

I think that
perhaps
I've finally grown tired
of finding new ways
to say that
simply

I am sad.

far too sober
and far too lucid
to formulate
anything worthwhile

but I'm nothing
if not stubborn

alas
it's an underrated
virtue

you are heavy
wearing the dust that has settled
on your sadness like a crown
you've grown so accustomed
to your fog
your water logged eyes
they demand an escape
yet you won't
let you
let me
lift you out