It's October 15
Desolation swallows me like the whale of Jonah.
I'm trapped there,
I can see into the deep brown abyss,
That there's not an inkling in your meticulously well-groomed head.
Oh It's Tuesday.
Apathy is the worst punishment.

I inhale,
And breathe in your skin,
Your name flows out of my mouth,
It feels good on my lips.
Embarrassed
I hide my face
I look terrible in the morning.
But your look eradicates my fear
Those chocolate eyes
Will drive me to the point of insanity
I can see it already.
You kiss the freckles on my skin
But I’m not worthy of your touch.
You’re so ******* perfect.
I will never be perfect.

I'm ******* up.
My laundry list
Continues to accumulate
Into a giant,
Hovering over me,
Breathing down my neck.
"Why aren't you working faster?"
He taunts.
I can't move any faster.
I can't move at all.
My batteries are dead.

Your absence becomes more apparent
The longer I sit here
I smile
You look away
I watch you take another drag on your cigarette
I'm jealous, I'll admit
I wish I was that cigarette
So that your lips might long for mine
I should go
But my ******* keeps smiling
As if I can guilt you into loving me again.

You just left.
After 17 years.
Laying on your brand new bed
That we had some stranger make for you.
As if that somehow made up for it.
You wanted to surf,
God, I wish you could’ve…
Two parts sarcoma,
But you were still our Ali.
Laying in your Led Zeppelin T-shirt,
That you wore more than you should’ve.
And even then you made me laugh
I don’t know how the hell you did that.
Somehow you made it okay
Until the morphine said goodbye.

You don't tell me I'm pretty
But some guy named Andy did.
I don't know him.
He messaged me on Facebook.
I told you that my boss is a ****.
I cried for an hour.
You told me that I "complain too much"
But 13 people "liked" what I had to say.
I long for human connection in a time
where we only connect our fingers to a keyboard.
We can talk to thousands of people
at the push of a button.
but that access has seemed to only push us
deeper into ourselves.
Away from others.
we see their picture in the corner,
the words they post
after half an hour of good thought, no doubt
but we don't know them
nor do we care to.
But boys message girls telling them that they are cute
hoping to fulfill some sort of fantasy that we both know
will never actually happen
But what does that matter.
They would never say it to their face,
which they probably wouldn't recognize in the first place.
And you are the proof.
As you sit here before me
Staring blankly into my eyes
Unable to tell me I'm pretty.

The anxiety of my last dream
Was just too much.
Even though my eyes are sore
And my body tired,
I have decided
That I will remain,
In that Purgatory of sleep
Which I find so pleasant.
Where the mind can wander,
But not far enough to get into any trouble.