i.
He told her
That mathematics was too
Sombre.
Too, too
Linear
To be poetic.

She said that
He had only seen himself
In a mirror,
A reversed hologram
Of his external self
Burned into his retinas with
His subconscious filling in the gaps.

But she had seen him
The rays reflected straight off him
Into her eyes;
Not some half-assed reflection
Off some silvered surface.

ii.
She said that
His jawline was
The ***** of a curve
Pencilled on a graph sheet.
His candlewax skin
A wavelength
Quantifiable on paper.
His spine
A number line with
Dashes, to show real numbers
The set of which was infinite.

She said that
A Fibonacci sketch was
A minimalist rose,
A post-modern bouquet.

And that
The reflected pale morning sun
In a half finished cup of camomile tea
Was a cardioid
With fixed coordinate values on the axes
And an algorithmic tangent.

And he
Was a negative infinity
A paradox not sorted under
Quine's classification system.

iii.
She had
Recorded his heartbeat and blood pressure;
Measured the distance between his lips with her own;
Tried so hard, so very, very hard
To put him down in a numerical form
And write him off as an equation.

But all she could say was
That he was more
Than the sum total of his meagre parts
And that she
Was his reciprocal value.

I was a fool to
Have believed the light I saw
Was the one to save me, the one
To lead me out from this darkness
But I've come to realize, they
Are only lights passing by,
NONE are looking for me, they never were
I sit on this cold surface, in this dark room
With only my tears to keep me warm but
Even they become cold and turn against me.
I am dying a slow death, trapped
In this dungeon of loneliness on the verge of despair
Waiting and fading
I wait for that one light to find me and say,
"There you are, where have you been all of my life?"
But until then, I close my eyes and pretend, until
I fade away as the fool I am.

Sleeplessness
Brought to you by sparkling espresso in a can
I have underestimated you yet again, oh humble coffee bean
But back to work
Eight tabs open, going back and forth
It's nothing short of a miracle if any given task is given more than a minute of attention at a time
Muscle spasms, trembling, fascinating
Overwhelming urge to mindlessly flex the muscles I don't have
Fake machissimo brought about by exhauation?
Or the exhileration of having to complete 8 projects in a day
While simultaneously trying to grasp a breaking down of my mind which hasn't happened since...forever
Hmm
These are the prime conditions to breed a taxing marathon of productivity
Or a chain of costly impulsive decisions to perpetuate procrastination.
Signs that someone is going crazy range from ****** to inability to stick to a single topic to excessive use of run on sentences
"How meta, acknowledging your insanity deconstructs the very notion of it if you normalize it within yourself and just look as everyone else as crazy! Ha.ha."
That made no sense, i don't think.
I like using big words to make myself sound smart you can make anyone believe anything if you use big words also it scares those
Hippopotomonstroesquipedaliophobixlcs
Grumble grumble
Good night/morning/whatever

Laughing,
Slow dancing
In bedrooms*

Problems drain away
Like kettle- water down the sink
From our last cups of tea

The smell on your neck
Our jokes and gestures
Like rituals

Teases of where, one day
We might end up.

We could be, on the sea
With the breeze buffeting our faces,
Making violent sails on blue-grey skies

There, you'd stand -
A silhouette on the deck
[Salt-wood & peeling paint]
- Absent minded.
Not understanding
How much
These moments

mean

to me.

Out on the sea
There's nothing but us
Laughing,
Slow dancing

I have questions
questions to what has no answers
deep in thought I sit
without feeling or fears

I have questions
ones no one hears
my mind is a blank
but I have tears

I have questions
whom knows no boundaries
body and soul
filled with stories

I have questions
you won't ever answer
fear and rejection
written in my messenger

love is everything not explained,everything u can n can not be seen.
from a feeling that is felt beyond what can be inside
all love wants to be is something that you cannot hide
love is the art you look at but cannot read, something inside that you fiene

With the hidden eye you peer up close. With eyes that stare beyond my doors.
That abstract art you stare at it for days. not wondering what it is but how it was made
Art is created to conceal the artists first code. cryptic is its first couple of messages
once the hearts pattern is rightfully noted. comes loves full trust that still can be easily quoted