You told yourself this emptiness was temporary. You told yourself you’d feel warmth again. You told yourself the winter could not last forever. How many times will you tell yourself these things before you believe them? How many times will you accept the pain? How many times will you black out before you figure out it’s not the answer? Will you ever realize if you can’t remember the answer you’ll never learn it? Will you ever realize the thaw will not come on it’s own? Will you ever learn that setting fires will only leave you burnt? A humans warmth is not hot enough. Their hatred leaves scars. Thoughts are a blanket. You can not control your own so you feed off of others. You read to feel something. Sad movies feel like a space heater. Every time someone tells you they love you your chest melts. How many people will it take? How much love will be enough? To turn your frozen heart into a puddle?
People talk about time without panic. Time is the cause of every attack. The worst of times and the best of them. The times I regret and the times I can’t hold onto. Time will not wait for me. Time will not slow for me. I am losing every second. I thought of time as a fluid. I could not hold it in my hands. It slipped through my fingers. But time is not containable. I am not the only one it escapes. Time is not a solid. Time is not a gas. Time is not an unidentified state. Time does not fit your labels. Time will not be defined. It is not yours to understand. It was never yours to keep. Time is not linear. Time travel is real. I have done it in my sleep. But time will not let you choose where to go or when to keep. I have no control. Time has made that clear. I am times creation. It reminds me every hour. I am stuck in this timeline. It jumps from year to year. It slows and speeds as it pleases. It is hard not to panic. Im under someone else’s control. It does with me as it pleases. I am nothing without the clock.
How do you explain to people that you don’t want kids because you’re afraid they’ll have your thoughts
“What if they have your eyes?”
What if they have my need to die
everything is boring
everything is felt
i sure do hate surprises
when there aren't any being dealt
i think this love is over
i think we've lost our lust
i sure do hate the dragging
when leaving is a must
You are far from anyone. Miles, hours, large measurements of distance and time. You live by yourself in what you and most people call the middle of nowhere. You love being alone. You were born for it. But the mailman comes. He knows you by name. You are one of few on his daily drive. He knows you receive weekly letters from Tracy, and has even learned some other names too. Do you think he knows that every letter begs for your return? He finds you in your garden on Monday mornings. He cares about your produce. He knocks when it rains. He is one of many that care, that pay attention. The people of work refer to you by name, the customers do the same. There is never anyone new. You know what they are there for. They search for corn, cabbage, rice and you. You cannot beg them not to care. Do you think they care? They ask about your cat. Questions are traps. You ride your bike for miles until you reach the safety of your large, lonely home. The ringing in your ears does not let you forget. They are talking about you. They know not to eat your apples but they will continue to buy them. You wish you could stop selling apples, or maybe that you would stop poisoning them. Why must you poison them? Is the phone ringing or is that your ears again? What's the difference? They are thinking about you either way. You gave up inventing something to erase yourself from their minds when you moved here. You need it more than ever. The grass grows long, weeds consume your garden. The mailman still knocks. Your ears ring when you avoid the windows. He knows you're there because you still read the letters. The grass is long but the pile does not grow.
You are surrounded by people. They rush past you while you sit on a bench that has grown very attached to you. It does not know you by name. You cannot remember the last time you heard your name. You give them a new one every time you order a cappuccino at your usual coffee shop. Everyone is too busy looking at everyone else. No one looks at you. You walk fast, tall, confidentially. You are completely invisible. You were born to be. You are yourself because you can be. You hide in the skyscrapers shadows. They have always been there for you. Your friends are benches and birds. They think you are gentle. You hide behind your computer screen forty hours a week. You do not mind when it looks at you. Does it mind that you look at it? Your mattress is on the floor. You are grounded fourteen floors above the ground. The guard does not make your ears ring so you do not mind him smiling. No day is like the last. Nothing is predictable. You hear everything with the lack of a ring. You are here. You are you. You are alone and you are happy. The mailman does not knock when he leaves bills in your box. He does not care about your produce. He does not remember your name. What is your name again? No one's ears ring because of me. My thoughts are taken up by the way the sky looks between buildings. There is no grass, there is no pile.
Sometimes I go places or see people that used to be a huge part of my life and my body doesn’t know how to react. Torn between timelines. Two people at once. Past me and present me do not fit well together. Opposites do not attract because I feel my two selves pulling apart. I used to say the only person for me is me, but not even me is me. Do you get it? I don’t think I get it.
People seldom believe
That when you say you’re a storm
You don’t mean a slight breeze