No, it's not voices that I hear

There are no muttering whispers of
hate or fear or sadness, guilt or regret
fluttering into my ears (yet)
- as romantic as that may have sounded
to you

I am not ignorant
to the fact that my restless habits
draw attention to me
with drawn conclusions
...and you
outdrew me

Sadly
there are more than walls that drift into
my line of sight
to my chagrin I find myself spied by those
with more curiosity than any sane person knows

(There is some overbearing self-entitlement
that accompanies the search for
a sign of light
in the face of another)

When I make eye contact, it is simply to feel grounded in reality
and I bet I project this desperation unwaveringly
when my eyes flicker briefly toward those of a stranger

They may sense something mysterious in my shiftiness, though I do not suffer
from the ennui that great artists
are compelled to quell
with narcotics

Nevertheless
folks wonder what my great art could be
what I am in touch with
that renders me unable to be at peace
with the world, as they are

So far I am no great artist
- narcotics would thus drive me further from peace -
instead I'm a poor scientist
synthesizing faulty chemicals

All these molecules my body loves to make
keep me scanning the surroundings
I hurl my horrible hormones at
obsessively

This alone causes me little grief
I've learned to I live with it - in my own way
I've grown detail-oriented, though so have noticed where some issues develop

The real problem arises in that unlike other harmless strangers
with their pleasant perfumes and caring colognes
the charmless hormones I assault the world with are compromised
like all of my chemicals
which (like you) have come to be this way
simply by my being alive

So along comes a compassionate soul
glimpsed through the eyes of a passionate fool
wishing to uncover what bothers me
to discover a potential lover
or to learn what leaves me turning
from them

Some end up pursuing a friendship
or become determined to prompt a long stare
for the deep longing that should come with it
brave the frigid winter or save this timid author?

Not wishing to hurt or offend them
I spend time in their company
yet fail at the delivery
of what should have been progress toward
shared shivering feelings
experiences with meaning

They leave me, seething

No, I hear less and less voices
it's a wordless taunting that haunts me

It's the sound of someone behind me shuffling into a jacket
as if we have just caught up over coffee and said all we could

If I turn toward the sound, it's gone
there is nothing there
and if I don't, I hear the wretched entirety of it

Arm into sleeve
jacket over shoulders
across the back and
the next arm slides in
Zip, snap
That's that

I've felt compelled to face the departing presence for so long
as if to clear my throat and acknowledge or protest its inevitable departure
but it leaves anyway
(...you did)

I am not in love, I tell myself. Faint words
do not reverberate, however, I know
that I am very good at fooling myself.
I should feel the vibration,
or so they say.

I am not in love.

Scribbled words running off
loose leaf.
Words left in the margins,
underneath the dotted line.
No Strings Attached
Or so they say.

I am not in love.

My hand on
the small of your back.
The taste of cold.
Wind blows headlines down
the sidewalk.
Adjusting coats and
gloves.
Skin remained covered,
to prevent frostbite,
or so they say.

How much prose
can relinquish this fire,
this intensity, which coincides
with disillusion?
When does an act of grace
become an act of convenience?

I am not in love.

Every once in awhile you find yourself at a crossroad,
or you feel like you've reached a dead end.
Life is hard to handle sometimes, and so are the relationships we hold.
It's very confusing.
Especially when it is between two people of the opposite ***.
The easiest way to explain this,
is that
it is not easy for most people to let themselves be vulnerable.
We all face so many hurdles in life,
trying to attain this goal that is (sometimes) unattainable.
Not all of our dreams will come true.
But that doesn't mean we should lose sight
or become discouraged.
Or so they say.

That is why we are human.
We are willing to make these decisions
and prepare to accept the consequences in doing so.
We don't allow ourselves to take breaks, simply because life does not stop.
We push forward. We strive. Although, sometimes life catches up to us.

We become irritable.
We become confused.
We become tired.

My life: far too much scrutiny.
In the end, I put too much thought into something
that changes my perspective.
Usually a distorted one.
That is why shutting down in a neurotic state is accepted.
A cool down period,
when all the while we know another meltdown is around the corner.

I am not in love.

Ideally, words should have the same
encompassing power.
But seeing as how I can not
determine what works well
for me, I have conditioned
myself to being adaptable.
No rhyme or reason,
will ease the pain
that seems to follow
your name.
And that is why
I repeat faint words.

I am not in love.
She never was.