I barely notice the phone ring anymore;
Messages tell me it does so every hour, if not more.
I barely can hear it ring.

I barely can hear my heartbeat.
I feel I barely have a pulse.
His heart, he claims, sounds like an alarm;
It resonates throughout his ribcage.
I barely can ignore it.

His past is coating my cerebrum.
My irrational thoughts and fears flood my dreams.
I am sorry that my heart is buried.
I am sorry that it forgot this language;
It cannot sing or speak
Out of fear of miscommunication.

I barely know who or what I am anymore.
I barely can breathe enough to say these words to you.
I barely am alive anymore;
You deserve a heartbeat that sounds like yours.

It’s driving your old car through familiar streets,
Or having a conversation with a river
Of a city you’re not from,
But you are its sibling;
The similarity is striking.
You could see yourself in it.
Here, you are family.
     You are welcome.

It’s jumping in the car with a drunk driver
Who insists on letting you know
He has not a clue how to operate a vehicle,
Or hearing unsettling words from a best friend,
From someone you love,
Or from your childhood pet
Who died when you were 16.
     You are mystified.

Dreams can only be interpreted by the dreamer;
No one can tell you what your dreams mean.
How do you see your world
Behind closed, rapid moving eyes?
“Everything we see and seem,
Is but a dream within a dream.”
Where does that leave reality?
    You are uncontrollable.

I have been confusing my dreams with reality,
And my dreams are turning on me.
When reality seems all right,
My dreams will try to prove otherwise.
I can’t make you my family.
I can’t hear the words you say.
As much as I would like to live this life,
     You are unreal to me.

This liquid will thin our blood.
The effects won’t last nearly long enough.
A couple dozen ounces
And empathy swims through my veins.
My mind is full of nothing,
And my liver is choking on
The toxins that refuse to leave
But keep invading like
Unwanted guests at a party.
And this is the cut I gave myself.
These are the cuts we give ourselves.
My company and I will let them scab over,
And we will scratch.
Hard.
Until skin is broken.
Because we will not let this heal.
No, we are not ready to move on.
This needs to be new.
This needs to bleed.
My eyes are blurry,
My face is hot,
My tongue slurs my words.
Our bodies are rejecting our minds,
And these cuts are now scars.

So the sun will rise
And the sun will set,
And we cut ourselves open all over again.

Engaging and enraging.
He’s beguiling and malicious.
His stare is dark and sinister,
But welcoming as arms wide open,
So jump in without care.
Make haste.
Because this faux happiness,
It will not last.
It will leave,
Only there to amplify
Your emptiness.
Don’t let words fool you;
Contrived and divine.
The worst isn’t over;
It’s luring you into the woods,
Into a hole,
With a plot that unfolds,
That reveals that you’re guilty.

I have this detestable habit
Of setting up scenarios
That will make me upset.
Little reminders reminding me
Of how I am not meant to be happy.
Whether these be the songs you played me
On repeat and repeat.
Or waking to a face that is not home to eyes
Of that enigmatic, lucid green hue.

     I saw the world through those eyes;
     Now my sight is less clear.

But everyone has an art
That makes them the object of affection.
When I found a love so divine,
It was when I spent my time honing mine.
Now my art involves dry liquids;
A masterpiece comes at the end of a bottle.
Because nobody is lonely
When they’re seeing double.

But our cars are our peace of mind,
So let’s jump in yours, always so cold
And warm the inside with our inconvenient love.
Play Jets to Brazil all the way through;
I’ll lower the volume to listen to you,
Because nothing is as sweet
As the sound of that voice.
Our love is a hopeless love,
But that does not mean anything;
Hopeless love is still love,
Isn’t it?