Helping the ones in need should not be a question left unanswered

the selfie stick
with a gun at the end
pointed at me
shooting you

I'm proud of my heart.
Its been played, stabbed,
Cheated, burned, and broken,
But somehow
Still works.

I'll spend forever,
Wondering if I could loved you better.

My mom asks me, why is it
that I sleep so much
She questions if I think reality is good enough

I don't have the courage to tell her that
I prefer dreams
And I can't seem to muster up
the right words to say

reality is exhausting
and all I do is feel

I feel everything
whether intensely
passionately
and I don't know how much longer
I can take these emotions gnawing at my tongue
Or if I handle the scratching in the back of my throat
begging me to say how I truly feel

And I know better then to tell her
that in my dreams
are where I can meet
up with you

This fantasy
A timeless taunting
vision
of you and I
together

At least in dreams

I won't be tortured by the inability to touch you
I pull you in
tightly
as your willing to be swallowed
immersed
I'd be submissive to your touch

At least in dreams

I can listen to your heart beat
as you listen to mine
and my heart frantically drums at my rib cage
just from the thought of you
beside me

In dreams I can even leave small peaks
along your collar bone

I can intertwine our trembling fingers
and
leave
lazy traces
of me
over your flesh

At least in dreams

I can swallow your enchanting sighs
with our mingling lips
then use my fingertips
to study the rise and fall
of your hips

In my dreams
I will use my tongue to write poetry
permanently
along your satisfied skin

I know that in dreams
there's a chance

you'll love me.

I don't believe you.

I don't subscribe to your thoughts
and the words that trickle out
of your head, to fall ******
on the pavement and disappear
down the gutter when
the rain comes.

I hope the rain comes soon.

A raging, rampant monsoon
to flood me dry and clean away
the raw, red finger-prints your diction
imprinted, a blood-red necklace ringing my throat.

I don't care for your intonation.

You, heedless of the power
of speeches simple sounds that decimate
veins and rupture explosive, ebony vessels,
setting me adrift on Moses' sea.

But, despite all, I reply in kind.

And
careless words leave me;
cutting you open.

Is it the falling rain
as it creates a clear sheet,
a cool blanket upon the earth?
Or is it in
the ripples
that form,
and disappear,
along the water’s surface?
Is it the taste
of burnt coal
and ashes
in
your
lungs
as you watch
the past
go up in smoke?
Could it be
along the nighttime streets
as you wander
in search for
where you belong?
Have you found it
under the light
of an
iridescent moon;
in silent reflection
as you reminisce
of Halcyon days?
Is it in
the aftertaste
of their fingers
intertwined
with yours,
or perhaps
in the whispers of
I
Love
You
residing in
the distant past.