if you asked me to
i'd burn myself alive
and not because i'm in love with you
i'm not -i think-
but i do love you,
without hidden motives.

there's no reason behind it
for you
i'd listen to silence for months
and i'd starve myself for years.

i've never questioned you
and i never will

but the only thing i ask of you
is to let me know,
not even the whys
just the i can'ts

i just wish you'd let me know
if you aren't coming over.

sometimes i forget that i exist
i wake up without knowing what time it is
but it's fine because i've forgotten that pain is a thing
that last night i could've cried
because i missed being able to say out loud how i felt for you
but also because i was having the millionth existential crisis of the week.

sometimes i just
i forget that i exist
it's like when you're sleeping but not really dreaming
but you're conscious of the nothingness that has become for just a second,
everything.

and for some reason
i've never talked to a person that understands what that nothing is,

but

sometimes,
i forget that they don't exist where i do
because if i don't exist then there's nothing and that means that
they don't exist

but me,
i forget that i exist.
how can i forget that i am alive?
it's like i can feel my body,
but i can feel the space between my fingers
no matter how tight i hold my hands together.

sometimes
i worry
because i forget that i am here
i forget that i am a living being
i forget that i am skin and bones
and memories
and connections with other people
and i am pain and sorrow and tears and light.

sometimes
i want to forget that i am here
i want to forget that i exist.
sometimes it's easier to imagine
not existing.

but sometimes,
when i forget that i exist-

i've never wanted to exist
but sometimes,

i realize i do.
i am here.
and if i am here
then so are you.

she likes me
he told me they feel things in her heart.

i haven't told them that i lied.
i told her i hadn't thought about it
i told him i didn't know i liked them
but i knew.

she understands
and he listens
and they are so ******* important.

she's someone i could fall in love with,
i could be comfortable with him.

if i had the guts
i would've told them the truth
i would tell him
i would hold her.

and still
a question in my head,
what will happen to
all of my things?

the books i've bought
for 80 cents or 20 dollars,
the ones i've read and the ones
i haven't

my collection of small
and not so small
creatures

the clothes i've worn
a thousand times
or once

my shoes
boots
high heels

my pillow and sheets
my phone charger and
my headphones

all of our pictures

not even the important things

i know i'd like to burn,
in a dream of blue and
orange
lighting the way,

but what will happen to all of them,
the things that possess me?
all the things bought and
received,
the things put together,
the things that belong on my floor.

you fall in love
so strongly
with booksellers
  and baristas
    and the girl next door
because as someone said
we are creatures of habit,
and the fact that you're able
to see them more than once
  to refresh their own face on your memory

unconsciously blows your ******* heart up.
you see all of these beautiful entities
walking and breathing
and dying and living,
and you fall in love with all of them.
but soon enough,
maybe after three nights of seeing
  them blurry in your eyes,
you forget their faces and what they were wearing.
you forget how they laughed
  or smelled
  or talked about whatever.
but not her.

you don't forget her
with the short
shoulder-length blonde hair,
with the glasses and big smile.
you don't forget
how she said you looked cute
and talked about vonnegut
  and charles bukowsky.
but she probably forgot you.

hello there chellovecks and forellas
appy polly logies for the chepooka
for i am only a devotchka
begging for a malenky lomtick of jeezny

droogies and nadsats
everyone who owns a pair of ookos
listen up to
your humble narrator

bring me a pletcho platch
and a polyclef
to open up the sun.

all i am is bad stories and
all you are is interruptions and compliments.

they were all talking and mostly laughing,
you were one of them.

but then you said i love you man
in that tone of yours
that lets me know you don't mean it.

you're not flirting with me
but i wish i were.

and i wish so many things that could never come true,
but maybe we'll be friends?