You wouldn't believe
how much effort I put into
shaving my left knee.

It's impossible to breathe
at this height,
but I'd rather not
fall asleep.

My skin is moist
with conversation,
and sticky sweet
from an earlier time.

Strange,
it's barely a memory now.

The looks I got
when my skin started melting,
only if you knew,
or understood.

The words slurred
from everyones noise holes:
calm.

When I noticed one
of the lights were out,
I felt like apologizing,
or leaving; but I didn't.

I never do,
it's just not appealing
enough.

Even if I started screaming,
or threw away my barriers,
it wouldn't change anything.
I'd still be a slave
to dusty ambitions,
a slave to my heart.

Some attempts proved them
to be worthy,
but the faults ruined
so much more.

Truth isn't
as scary as it seems,
the hurt only stings
for a little while.