If I thought about you,
would you think about me?
If I give
and you take,
could I ever expect you to give?
Why,
when I'm
with you
I feel I can live,
but time progresses,
and words dissipate;
the need for words
seem less provoked.

You're insufferable.
The humor in this
is what I've become
at my own expense.
This shadow
clinging onto
a discontent
disposition.

Delusions
deemed
deeply drastic during
decomposition,
decidedly.

I decided.
Lights turn on.
Light bulbs flash.
Shadows dissipate.
The same as our words,
decidedly.