i feel dormant, static.

sundays are reserved for anticipation and potential energy. they’re days of suspense and text messages sent with no reply.

a flower that hasn’t bloomed, a fetus in utero, or a criminal on death row, awaiting her execution. sunday is a a spectrum. possibly infertile.

a day of hope, wanting, calling, but still loathing, apprehension.

i can only speak for myself, and my imagined version of you.

i sent you a text at 3pm asking how youve been
you read it at 3:39 pm
you replied at 3am saying you were missing me

Its 3am
And you're still sleeping
I sit across with my eyes, all weeping
You lied about all the things you said to me.
Its January 2017
And I tend to fall on all my faults,
That you were never the right one for me.

It's almost the end of 2019
And I'm no longer in your sad story
I'm living, breathing, I finally found the one for me
I know I should never fall back with you,
Indecisive lies; your issue.

It’s not an art museum,
it’s a Waffle House,
and you’re looking sleepy
as you sip your tea.
It’s three a.m. and
I know we still have a few more miles until my house,
but I’m home and you know it.
I’m ripping up a napkin with my
hands as we talk about the concert.
I know I enjoyed it more than you,
and I know I cried on the way home
because I thought you didn’t love me,
but you still came to the concert
even though you didn’t really like the artist,
and now we’re at a Waffle House at three a.m.,
and the garish yellow decor reflects on your skin,
and we’re sweaty and tired,
and I love you in the rare, inexpressible way
that feels most potent
after concerts at Waffle Houses at three a.m.

There’s something magical about 3AM
It calls me awake almost nightly

Sometimes I’ll sit outside then
Just to listen to the wind dance

It’s peaceful there in the calm
I can feel that peace in my soul

I don’t discount that comfort
Because it’s few and far between

You're the calm to my storm I've embraced,
I'm the void you're lost in.

"there were black holes forming inside you, you see — all glorious, all millions of solar masses. so darling, maybe that was the time sighs started to become so heavy."

You are not coming home
You're only visiting mine
The path I've carved to the bone
With my blood and sweat
When you left me behind

We're expecting connections
From two dead cells
Yet there's not a flickering light
No prospective spark to find

I want the best of both worlds
Knowing I've driven you away
While coping with the anger and confusion That leads me astray

I don't need restitution.
I don't seek retribution.
Here I see no resolution.
Let there be no delusion.

Perhaps there's a part of me
That will always care
About what you think or how you feel
But honestly it's hard for me to be real
When the wounds never mutually heal

My heart is repealed
Until your story's revealed
Maybe when Hell freezes over
Or pigs grow wings and fly
Suffice to say

I've grown older
Fulfilled in my own ways
Chasing epiphanies and revolutions
I've become colder
Concealed in my own space
Now I've found the ideal solution

Simply (smile)
Give you an illusion