Somehow I got used to the aftertaste of been alone;
day by day
now
I see growth.
Feelings used to be all over the place
when everything needed some space
-   I needed space   -

I don't want to be wanted
I'm still not good at it

Trying to find peace
Selflove is what I deserve indeed

I call myself for your attention
but do I need it seriously?
Do I need the taste of your lips
on my coffee cup?
Do I need your perfume running through my late night baths?

The you I want,
who is it?
Is it you who turned me into thousand of pieces?
Or is it just the aftertaste of a bad dream?

The you I want is not a you.
Is not a thing,
but maybe it is.
It doesn't exist in thoughts
it doesn't seem to has a face.

I drink my coffee in the mornings.
All I can see is a kid with no body, no structure.
All I see is myself.

Part 2, lay me to rest...

A migraine ensues as I feel my bed getting wobbly,
I open my eyes to find that water has surrounded me.

An island’s shore a distance away, with no guiding lighthouse for assistance to lay.

Just the sea,
some sweet pea,
and a single palm tree.

I sit up and sip my herb tea.
Thirsty I would be after a snotty Sunday,
But a distant cry it be...

“The ship’s sinking captain!”

-queue the choir.

We’re stranded.
Hope a forgotten,
anxiety a blaze.

“What now?!”

We all stood up looking dazed.

“Batten down the hatches and Bring a Spring Upon ‘er!
We’ll get through this storm even if it takes a garner!”

The tides of war, tug and push.
Marooned on this bed of nails I felt ambushed.

I rush to the deck without a moments notice.

Ah the beauty of chaos,
matched that of an orchid and lotus.

Confusion and shock, worry and fear.
Looking around I sensed the end growing near.
And so I ran away and cowered with a tear,
As I waited for this dark cloud to clear.

But soon enough, time passed and I came to realize,
The silence and emptiness that had come to rise.

I took a look around:
Ship abandoned,
No shore in sight,
And Oh how I missed that palm tree,
How she kept me up at night...

Loneliness ensued soon after,
And I’d come to regret my actions.
How I wish I would’ve been taken away by whatever extraction.

And as night time fell, with the claps of thunder,
I thought would I ever again see that breathe of wonder.

A bark of passion to lay my worries against,
A shade of compassion for whenever I tensed.
leaves that fashioned a synthetic chime,

And as I gazed at the storm of your aftertaste, I thought,
****,
I’m almost out of time.

Prozac has the worst aftertaste
Especially when you take it
On an empty stomach
Which you're not supposed to do
But I do anyway
Because Prozac can make you fat
Depression can make you fat
Usually sick people get thin
But I'm the opposite
I get fat
Because I ******* eat my feelings
I don't know how to cope
So I take prozac
To help me out
To help me not sleep all **** day
To help me get up in the mornings
To help me do ****
But it has an awful aftertaste
Unlike anything else
And it stays at the top of your throat
This gross pill capsule taste
That I really ****** hate
But I have to take these pills anyway
Every ******* day
Despite the aftertaste
Because I want to live

Aftertaste;
Your lips reek slightly of
lies and broken promises.
trust me, I know the smell.
it might not be you though,
maybe it's me, the scent
may have made permanent
home in my breath after
countless years of others
leaving their lies on my
tongue.
But I'll ignore it,
and you'll pretend it's not there.

is the taste of your name on my lips (whenever I try to recall the sweet thoughts I had, before the bitter aftertaste of what we were).

you are the aftertaste of coffee.
after the jumpstart,
the palpitation,
here you are,
sadly bittersweet.

you are the persisting vision
of a falling star.
its trail of light
remain before me
even after it’s long been gone.
i’ve tried to catch it
with my feeble hands,
only to grasp nothingness.

you are the aftermath
of an earthquake,
of which i found myself
at its epicenter.
even after rebuilding,
i found
that nothing is
as it was.

you are the tune
that keeps playing
over and over again
inside my head.
i’ve being lss-ing
over your memories,
singing a song
i’m not sure
if i’ll ever hear again.

you are an aftertaste,
a persisting vision,
an aftermath,
an lss
that i wrap around myself,
holding me together,
keeping me from falling apart.

for j.e.
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