exhaling the faith i had
in myself is nightly

neither of us allow
conversation to linger
and it's sickening

we're blindly pulling at
bedsheets for answers
neither of us want to acknowledge

i don't know what's happening

each day is different,
i can't tell if my unease
is with the assumptions
or with myself

i think i know what you want
(at least partway)
but my mind wants to resist
losing interest in fingertips and
the mismatched cues

your body tells me you
need the closeness

mine is afraid
of taking this further

i don't want this to become
another bad joke, laughing
in hindsight but doubting
my intentions, i just don't
know myself well enough

and every time i mention
i am unsure, you explain
that you can't tell nights apart

texts at midnight
with questionable wording -
we have to be alone for this
to work out like you'd expect

but at this point all i feel
is a little bit sick and somewhat
concerned for your sake

because i can't be a rock for you

i am overwhelmingly sorry

there's something different
about this time for me

something goes through me
that i cannot interpret

you told me that you try
to live life to the fullest
because you might not have
the fullness that others get from living

i almost wish you hadn't told me

because my eyes start to fill
when i think about you and
i wish i knew what to say

i know what it's like to hurt
so fully and deeply, to doubt
your days and know your clock
to be shorter than some

and to have to pull it together regardless

i want to tell you so badly
that i'm scared too,
that there's so much more
than what i've told you

i think i'm afraid that
we're too much alike