dismember the jerking flesh of my heart nervous excrement the manner your head rattles when i lunge at you this room stiffens with **** running our corpses thru the flame the gummy dark muffle day-to-night pinball wisdom of creatures below the floor cactus salad me you and our malady
dismember the jamming fight of my breath your reciting the wit that exudes you i hack mad laughs the room becomes rude hot and we burst our fleshes the seasons collect in some deafening syrup but still the walls are music with vermin mushroom tea you and me
Sure, we texted nonstop. You stared at me in the halls. But missed chances and glances were all we had. We never had a real conversation. (Maybe things would have been different if we did.)
All my memories of you consist of my face lit by a bright screen, sitting in the darkness of my bedroom, wishing for you—desperately—at 11:11.
I went against the grain by tightening the blinds turning off the lights the bedroom then became a bottle of ink filled with ink either black or blue lying in my bed like an undissolved bit the world is jet black i close my eyes and mouth so as not to choke on the darkness at this point the yearning becomes light and thin pale and faint and finally it faded like daylight the stranger I've come to be like.
