Lying in bed she feels his touch
                                            in the crook of her waist
A heavy arm in the space between
                                            her ribcage
                                                   and hip bone.
She feels his hand,
                     gently on her shoulder,
                                             with fingers encasing her rotary cup.
She feels the weighty rise and fall
                                                   of his
                                                             b
                                                                 r
                                                                    e
                                                                       a
                                                                           t
                                                                              h
                                                                                  sooth her back to sleep.
She feels it all,
                       but, upon turning,
                                                      finds nothing but apathetic sheets.

My soul will not rest. It will not quiet. How did we get here with our souls in different states? It's you I needed next to me when everyone else was a flake. The world seems brighter with you by my side like we were here to destroy it and rip out its insides. With a straight posture and blood on our hands, we would walk side-by-side to conquer the land. Now I'm alone drifting in this sea when it's you that I want here with me.
Sincerely, a friend.

Maybe it wasn't you, but it sure wasn't me.
Not then, not with you, not when my blood still ran red.
But when sap and dirt dripped out my ears and my brain drowned in skeletons and sickness
and I looked to you like a puppy drowing in the deep-end and you held your hands near your shoulders like the West was pulling them to her, like she was taking you away from me.
I splashed my way out, and I dressed up my bones, wrapped and bandaged them for some other day when they felt stronger.
I learned you couldn't save me, that it wasn't your job.
That tasks like living weren't right to pawn off to others.
That duties like breathing belonged to the dying.

When she chooses me
God she chooses me
All hands and teeth and nails and she's saying things to me like
Put your hands on my neck
And whispering things like
*** into me

But when she doesn't choose me
It's a distance I've never known
A shoulder car colder than this winter
My toes are frozen in my boots
My stomach growls insistently
My tongue sprouts hair and sticks painfully to my mouth
Though I don't protest
I simply sit at the shoreline awaiting the next pummeling of blood, salt, and passion

"It hurts" the boy said without moving his lips
"Here," the girl touched her fingers to the boy's eyelids, "let me feel."

And they stayed like that for a long time, in silence, until tears fell from the girl's eyes,
And the boy said, "See?"
And the girl said, "Feel."

The girl felt weighted, but the boy looked lighter
So every time the boy got the heavy look in his eyes
The girl touched them to draw the pain out of him and into her.

He is the middle child, neglected and ignored.

Past lures people into nostalgia and regret and spins them into his web like a spider.
He binds them to their pain.

Future owns faith and hope and holds out a hand for people to grab, but he pulls away at the last minute so they're always stumbling forward for more.

Today is left alone.
He blooms flowers  and spreads fragrances, but the people don't notice.
So he covers the skies and makes them cry ice to say to the people,

"This, notice this, feel this, breath this, live, in this!"

and the people pat each other on the back and say,

"The sun will come out tomorrow."