Cold heart
all warmth depart
as distance takes its hold.
Crossed arms, knee fold .
You can't;
I can't,
See me for these walls.
You can't;
I can't,
Hear me for this noise.
Static buzz between us,
void and unforgiving.
In sadness i sit alone.
In separation we walk backwards; together.
Am i disappearing?
A ghost with limpid tears
and teknicolour fears
of loss and self loathing.
This is only for today,
this grief and ever fading.
Tomorrow
time will have passed
and warmth back in shall
seep.

All i know is...

Not much.
Not today.

My mind is tired, old and decayed.
Typical monday.
Burnt, fried, rotten, moldy, a little bit dismayed.

So dont get on my nerves, they're frayed.
Dont get on my nerves, not today!

I cannot fly today
Yet perhaps last night
We flew between the stars
Who can tell?
Tomorrow will no doubt
Be like today
But not always
Not everlastingly so.
I sew the scenes
Of our escape
While sitting here tonight
Sleepily concealed
In this weighted room
And happily involved
In inward visions
Of eventual flight.
Please pardon
My distraction.
I am so immersed
In a solitary search
For solar satisfaction.

I think therefore what?
I am, I know, I could be?
Perhaps I just think.

I stood in the sun
and thought of you
and of my junebug heart.
It clings on, unshakable,
even after it’s death.

And you like that about me,
my junebug heart that is.
You think you have one too.
I know that you don’t.
Yours is fleeting.

You are
delicious
And I am
greedy.
You are
generous
And I am
needy.
You are
experienced
And I am
learning.
You are
flammable
And I am
burning.

He tells me he likes nachos while we sit in front of his living room TV,
lights dimmed. his dog has shed relentlessly on this couch.
I’m feeling dizzy, because I’m pretty sure that cheese was growing mold and I remind myself that
this is the 4th boy this summer (it’s only July), and he’s holding my hand.

it’s not so comfortable. in fact I realize I really don’t want to watch this movie about chemotherapy and space aliens (willing to bet he’s run the same one for every girl) at all. for a moment I forget where I am,

and I ask him if his name is Mitchell.
It’s Rafe, he says, ¼ laughing, ¼ wondering why he invited me over, half imagining what he could do to me.
what a ****** name, I think to myself, and I throw the scratchy blanket off me in his too air-conditioned apartment,
much more breathable.
I open the door. sorry Mitch, my mom told me to be home by... (squint at my watch in the darkness)
he stands up and knocks over my untouched Pepsi, probably spiked, saying it’s pretty early, are you sure? and the name’s –

(door shuts). bye, Mitch.

Trees wave
friendly greetings.
I've yet to say hello.
I would like to be your forest
Preserve