My skin is eight different kinds of dry
my fingers shorting like circuits
my mind ventured near permafried
but boosts of serotonin were worth it

My hands didn't get enough
of the good time beneath those layers
They were timid and shaky, too coy
for your self-assured bares

I can't paint the picture of you and I
the canvas is blank until colors collide
wide strokes of red to signify the
passion bleeding from my insides

I'm on the edge of my seat
precariously perched
anxiously gripping the edge
of your tousled and wrinkled shirt

I've waited for you to catch on
but oblivion runs deep, my dear
I'll speak my mind, loud and clear
It is you I want; I want you here

I am the subject

of my own misfortune; the

idle passerby

under the influence again
just so I can stop thinking
about the emptiness I feel
like it’ll completely wash away
down the cold steel drain
and flush out into the abyss
of the rest of the world’s pain
I cannot understand the flightless
fears and insecurities that are
bound to the entirety of me
and why I’m crying without cause
when I should already be asleep
life is as real as the concept of you
and it’s happening now, every day
I awaken in the afternoon because
everything is frightening to do
I’m not ready to be a failure again
still recovering from you and hoping
to meet someone new so it’s easy to
***** a good thing up for myself
life is relentless, happening now
I’m under the influence

Sickly, yet eager
to spread my germs by laughing
with my loves tonight.