i don’t know how to feel when i talk to you
obviously there isn’t a right or wrong
but sometimes i wish there was

it’s odd because
often times i’ll feel guilty when you show me any form of kindness
i worry you feel forced
i try to comfort myself and believe it’s irrational but

i always feel this slimy flame creep the length of my spine
it crawls from my spine to the base of my neck
it’s grip strengthens, the heat
it might be suffocating me
but in some poetic and artful manner

as i begin to burn
my hair has been set ablaze!
i contemplate the brevity of my existence
my eyes have become unbearably hot!
i ruminate on all of what was and what could have been
my entire body has become entangled with restless heat!

as the light fades
it is light that has overtaken me

in my fleeting moments
i realize that i am lucky
because to burn because of you,
is a pleasure

there’s this nervous energy that’s welling up inside of me
more likely than not
caffeine induced
but it’s here and it’s here to stay

i only write about love or heartbreak
and that’s so upsetting to me
i feel that love and heartbreak make up a small part of me
maybe i just struggle with vocalizing it
so i write ...poorly

you know how people alway talk about having a feeling ‘creep up their spine’ in writing
i’ve even used that phrase before
but i don’t believe i’ve ever felt it
for me it’s always in my stomach and chest
a clenching
a pressure
a grasp
whatever it is,
i’m not a fan
i would much prefer something creeping the length of my spine
it sounds lovely

i don’t get sweaty palms
it’s more so sweaty fingertips
sweaty fingertips followed by dread
no, that’s too harsh

i do think i understand the feeling of butterflies
i tend to feel a certain tingle
it will often devour me
ok, again, too harsh

i don’t think i have a tendency to over exaggerate when i write
of course, i am drawn to certain cliche literary devices
personification
metaphors
imagery
but i feel as though my writing conveys how i feel on a deep and true level

i do think i fancy you
though i’m not quite sure why i use the term fancy
i have never used it before
but it feels accurate enough

dear god your voice

i have sat here for the past hour, on the ground, ruminating on my own ****** lack of emotional understanding
i sit here
my stomach infested with moths
my mind becoming entangled with vines of restlessness
confusion
infatuation
angst
more infatuation bordering on fascination
my mind is being enveloped by the somber shadows cast by the incessant, demanding, creeping leafy limbs

i no longer know how to feel

another human has seen past your facade!!
broke the davinci code!!
never once failed to be the voice of reason when you can’t even understand your own voice!!

i love your voice

self loathing for the sake of irony
a deeper meaning waiting to be discovered
an enigma?
no, just an air of mystique

beauty draped with intellect
intellect dripping with thoughts of self doubt

how does one radiate warmth while speaking in subarctic tones

baffling those around
listening with intent
for she is unaware of her power
making her all the more alluring

a modern day siren
possibly

i love you
i feel a pit in my stomach
i love you
i love you
i do not deserve you

you are an angel
crafted from warmth
sculpted from light
your eyes were formed from the soil of the earth
and your skin the light of the moon

ah

what i would do to be in your presence!

ah,

like the moon tugs in an incessant loop
i am drawn to you

ah?

what would i do to touch your skin
to feel your breath on my neck

to feel,
to feel,
to feel,
you are what makes me feel!
to be adored by you!

ah!

gallant, galloping, short-sighted symphonies,
fall down like rain drops, shimmering, tapping,
beneath the bed frames of lovers du jour,
hallways, empty and narrow

synchronized breath of nervous bodies
sweaty palms and tangled hair combine
lust overpowers logic
as they contemplate, as ardor triumphs

instinct, dominant, calls out in whisper;
the loud pulsing of breath is deafening,
breathless, chokeholds, moving in time
with heartbeats, held and pushed to their ends

whispers incoherent, hot breath becomes deafening
fumbling hands find solace in each others presence
an illustration of loneliness?
possibly

take your time, and cherish
each waking breath with fear and admiration.
hold it within you, then release,
in cautious, considered reverie

of course, the simple questions will surface
why am i here? where am i? who am i?
but somehow, an unseen and illusive force is yelling at you to stay
regrettable thoughts preface regrettable actions

and so you stay, no, you linger,
like cigarette smell on car seats,
like perfume on a wool coat;
noticeable, there, no matter what tries to wring you out

ever present, lurking in the shadows
people find it off putting as you watch them commiserate in uncomfortable displays of self
you know their discomfort stems from confusion
you endure countless nightmares of covering velvet in bone