It’s just that
At 6:33 in the morning
I’m thinking of you
When i shouldnt
I mean i shouldnt
Shouldn’t i?

It’s just that
You are the tree
That every one of them
Has ever branched off from
And i thought I’d never need
To see your roots again
But i was wrong

It’s just that
I have seen you maybe a total of
3 or 5 hours
In four and a half years
But you haven't changed a single bit
You still feel as beautiful
And as fascinating
As i have always thought you to be

It’s just that
I feel remarkably
And inexplicably
Magnetised to you
I see you in every one i thought i loved
And every passing by
Every brush of the arm
Every chance meeting at a coffeeshop
Keeps me craving for more
And i don’t know why

It’s just that
Maybe i just lust for life
I long for your touch
Just for the sake of being touched
Or maybe
It’s the brevity that
Strums my chords
This beautifully awful way
Or maybe
It really has been you
All along

It’s just that
It makes no sense
I mean
You
And
I
It’s a joke right
We’ve been this way before
And I know the way it ends

It’s just that
I can’t help but hope
Or think
That these years could change the way the trail leads

It’s just that
My whole life
All I’ve wanted was to be sure
And now
More than ever
I just want to find out for myself

Swooping through the city streets,
the alleys, the corners, every crevice and crack.
Education and language never to be seen, dissipating with the past.
Ingrained in the brain, the common normality, placed on the famous track.
Morality has diminished, human beings are finished.
No curative for this disease,
a disgusting devious deceit  
Two dozen selfies left behind,  
just you, old and decrepit
all your doing,
your design,  
a silly lie.  
A ***** disguise.
Alone with a wasted life.

it's kinda ******
you don't really have a choice
you know like AA

The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.