i cried in your car remembering the ones who cast me aside
you told me i wasn’t ready
perhaps
you were right

life regurgitates death-
a vulture franticly picks at the perished carcass of a rodent laying on the hot cement
consuming the remaining vitality held within its flesh  

even after our expiration date
there are still jobs to be attended to
giving and giving and giving
until everything has been consumed
until there is nothing but thin fragments of bones
scattered across a box six feet under the soil

life
death
both appear one in the same

and i wonder if maybe i should just leave myself out for the birds

glancing across the table into eyes like stones
as a man outside smokes a cigarette
swearing to himself that it will be his last
and a baby cries from the other side of the room
silences that should be uncomfortable
but have grown far too familiar
and the moonlit ghostliness
bounces off the window pane

the delicacy of the world seen in an hourglass
sand leaking through the cracks
a ticking time bomb
of rationality and insanity

as dawn becomes dusk
and i gaze into the soul ******* pupils
of the man sitting across from me
not
saying
a word.

the moon stops slow dancing
with the stars
and packs up his bags
to give way for the sun to prepare his final act

and my mother is sobbing from down the hall
violently watching
as last nights fast food burgers and stale liquor
empties out from my stomach and into the toilet bowl

time after time again-

she says that there wont be a body left to love
once this is over

contemporary eeriness ricochets
off the dry wall
colliding against the thinness of my skull
like a soldier firing a gunshot from a mile away
without any deterrent about the damage the exit wounds would cause

the octave changes
and the slurred speech drenches out of your lips
consonants and vowels with no connection

knock knock
here it comes again

the same lifeless language that has been spoken
time after time

and the audience applauds as you waltz off the stage
and the curtains close before i can clamor for an encore

the crowd is roaring as if you were speaking in tongues
but the novel was written for only my ears to understand the detriment

the lights dim out and the people scatter

and i am left alone against four walls
begging for the show to start over

"i'm sorry. i'm unaware of why i am unable to fall in love with you," his whispers clash like razor blades upon bare flesh.

a life such as mine could only be stemming from the root of false accusations. his, however, a brain full of knowledge, yet not equipped to let it drain from his lips like water dancing along cool pavement, sliding into the depths of a sewer; sliding into the depths of my brain.

isn't it funny? aristotle once believed that the sun revolved around the earth despite the planet's elliptical movements in an orbicular orbit around its beating heart of fire? at the bottom of my soul I have the tiniest hope that some day you will build a contrasting conclusion about the depths of your emotions. but the sad and inevitable truth is, once that day has come where you have built up enough evidence, i might be long past gone.

i mean, people have found ways to map interstellar galaxies and travel at the speed of light to complete distant planets and yet you can't even go such a distance as to explain why your heart doesn't beat in the same intervals as my own.

your sentiment of emotion encapsulated within the larynx, pulsing a steady wall between conscious and unconscious knowingness.

oh, how i wish you would break me down with your words.