you are my dreams and in-betweens,
a stitch in my side.

you are the worm on my sleeve that squirms restlessly.
you itch at my skin. you cause me to crumble.

hungry as I am, (I cannot eat),
you fill my gut with both lust and disgust.

I tried to make art but it was ugly and left me burnt.
charcoal pencils drew lucidly over charred skin.

my eyes try to comprehend the complexity of your freckles' design
(fashioned by Helios with apollo in mind.)

Sunday mornings became less and less important.
my coffee was always bitter. my milk, always sour.