youre snoring awfully loud
so
thanks for interrupting those nightly resurrections.


really.
if whiskey can't cure me
im not sure what will.

reteaching myself artithmatic
variables and integers and invisible numbers
no longer the wallet or the will to return to university
instead resilient effort
of comprehending without hand
and now I can feel the ethic in the space resting between the cap of my pen
and
my curling lip.
feeding on knowledge
sustiaining dissatisfied soul.
maybe,
im just ******' tired of being an artist.

was filled with love
but mostly filled with heartache
because it is more interesting
and they all loved you
and i slowly hated
as the plot went on
and the more it sold
the better i felt

because there was a twist where i never got you back
and it was more climactic when i didn't want you back
and i survived and moved on
and made something i once loved into literature

and i am not an author for this
but an architect

I thought of myself as a geyser, a glacier for love
bundled up tight,
And ready to explode with the affection I dwell upon.
But see here,
Because my love lusted over was in winter's bitter flake
And now I am left with a fifth and a pack and some sort of swelling ocean in my eye.
I know I was worthy
Perhaps even still 
Of the mind's manufacturing of a twin soul.
I practice growth
And I take this loss
And I find new arms to warm
the barren chill in the cave which they name my heart
In each chamber your voice echoes
And hell, i know I haven't been the first to ask
"please, just some quiet, just some rest"

I go to sleep with the quake tonight,
wake me after the shock.

chewed up pen caps
cuticles  too
white knuckles
and a belted waist so
you will think i am a better woman.
this perfume to resume.
and i hope for you to give me
one last kiss upon my forehead...
before i slap you across the face.

i am flat footed
and sometimes i starve myself
and sometimes on purpose
but sometimes not
and i am not sure that the lead on my palms will ever fade
but i am positive that the acrylic will never wash from my jeans
and i am a light smoker
and a cautionless drinker
and i REALLY want people to
STOP
STEALING
MY
FINE-POINT
SHARPIES.

it is upsetting to me
that
sadness
is the closest to
passion
i have felt in almost
a year.


****.