waking up slowly
fabricating an illusive meloncholy,
then dancing with different partners in my memory
until I'm lighting a cigarette
and watching it all bleed out
I wanted you all to need me
way more than you did
perhaps I never opened myself up to being needed
and only thought I did...
seems like I was just a kid.
sometimes it still feels like I am.
occassionally naive,
but doing the best I ******* can...
I barely remember what it was like loving you then
I must be like a shadow in your memory...
or maybe like a ghost with a heavy burden
longing to be freed.
do you wonder what I'm up to?
does it even matter to you?
I'm not sure it even should
I can't give you what you need  
I'm not able
though I used to wish I could...
but
I don't quite think that I'm missing out
you've got vinegar where you think there's honey in your mouth
and a sore
where you think there's pores
to absorb
what you think is a greater knowledge of me
of men
of women
of pleasure and pain
you observe and dismiss,
leaving with nothing gained.
sunday mornings always smell the same
but still different in their own way...
I've taken so many contemplative rides home
in that sunday morning glow
eyelids barely clinging to saturday night's eyeshadow...
so thirsty for an answer to fill me
grinding up some C+ ****
reaching my own bed
and going back to sleep.
I still wonder what you're up to