the mess here now, i will allow
and you know me, i worry
could always use some pity.
its been about a month and im eating badly,
and obviously my wounds are open but dont take them seriously because i’ll be fine.
and i can see it in your eyes that you mean it, i can feel in your arms that its true and though i just heard myself say it, i know i am lying to you. missing the crease between your eyelids, where id stare at through heartfelt sentences and avoid through sad silence.
im missing your teeth when you stutter
when we smoked out on your porch
and softer talk began to soften.
and i miss how my arm would die each time it would lay beneath you, yet i got distracted by your music and i think of nothing else but art and begin to write my loneliness in poems because its like im only content with life when im with you. (3:05 pm)