i.
i wake in the dark.
i check the clock on my wall too see what time it is,
and it’s only three in the morning.
i’m reminded of that song
by matchbox 20.
it’s three am, i must be lonely.


ii.
i’m used to being left.
this shouldn’t happen
you said.
people like me never know what we need.
this shouldn’t happen.


iii.
i feel as if i am suspended in time.
while people keep moving on.
i’ll cut off my tongue
so the words i say
*can never hurt you.

I'd rather be a raisin than a grape
With no juice or sweetness
Desolate of hydration
Dried via sun
Wrinkled and battered
Has endured strife
Became bitter over time

But I'd rather be wine than a raisin
Potent and strong
Powerful in simplistic form
Living only to intoxicate those who consume me

For so naturally time absorbs life
Making one **** with age
Dry from existence
Then robust through struggle

I'd rather be a raisin than a grape, but I'd rather be wine than a raisin.

Every ounce of pressure against my veins,
like the flood of heavy summer rains.
Trying to escape the coating of my flesh,
internal tensions I could not oppress.
I hear crickets, smell the morning dew.
All I can ever concentrate on is you.
Made to feel nervous but oh so calm,
sometimes even sweet like cherry lip balm.
A moment of combustion then release,
your tongue wanders onto my body, into a crease.
I'll never care if I get rich,
so ever long as you ease my twitch.
Stale smoke and the scent of butane,
breath seeps into me like a bloodstain.
You, a child at heart
and I, a freak into abstract art, like Ad Reinhardt.
What a fine creation, our own constellation,
an innovation, better than intoxication.

the sky a faint grey
suddenly turned black as night
wind roars, thunder cracks