well

ironic how emotions can be turned off by one conversation

your warmness is not so warm anymore
your eyes tell me different things now
your honesty about other people is now off-putting

your existence no longer has an affect on me

i’m sorry

not for you

(for me)

My heart is a cavern
Much like those you find
In the depths of the earth

It grasps
Like a toddler
For foreign objects
That have no worth

And yet
I cannot reach
The poison he
Has slipped me

Under the covers
Through the bed sheets

Like the secrets
Murmured through
My bedroom door
As I lay on the floor

Begging him for more
The words come to an end
Final, before he ran
And I was never to see him again

Why is the moon so far away,
Why is the river so deep,
Why is poetry so deep,
Why is the sky so blue,
Why is my heart racing. . .

in loving you, every memory that i have of myself has dissolved into nothingness

coffee in the morning is no longer sufficient why

has my head become a globe that can barely balance on its tiny pedestals?

in my solipsistic dreams somehow i can see your silhouette

even in the solace of my slumber you still manage to penetrate my inner most and intimate thoughts

like a shadow
that strays from the light

particles that amass and then leave again

the daisy to my gatsby-esque ideals of romance and hope

shaky visuals brought on by a familiar melody that conjures a memory that has given me stockholm syndrome

you are the captor but i

i am a willing victim

if hannibal lecter could dine on his friends, you can have me as dessert

and it wouldn't matter, for my life

has till this moment, been devoid of the one thing everybody seeks

love, in all its permutations and essence.