My immune system can't keep up with my emotions,
I've broke and shed tears, learning to be kosher.
I've been sick for a month but sick of you longer.
If my resilience is strong, my resolve can be stronger.
I won't talk to you, what's there to say anyway?
Hey
What's up? You hear Deafheaven's new album?
No? Yeah, it's not out yet.
I know you're not even giving this a second thought.
But when everyone's around- I still wonder why you're not.
Even though it's brief and in passing
and maybe I'm relieved; disenchanted.
I don't have to address the silence in a drunken stupor
amongst all of these new faces, I'm super.
I can talk to whoever and not feel like a loser
swiping on tinder, wearing away my finger
prints, a repetitive motion syndrome since
that night I decided to get to stepping for my dignity.
I refused to be an option that's just in your vicinity.
I've bought one too many beers that I didn't drink myself.
I've sat shiva one too many times on your bottom shelf.
So now I just wonder if we could ever be cordial,
I've been rubbing panacea on the sofa-bed sores,
I've acquired these last few months with you.
Hey
what're you up to?
Hope you're alright
Congratulations
I bid you good night.

I want to cry but to be perfectly honest,
I don’t feel like crying. I mean maybe,
I feel like I should be crying,
perhaps the girl, that wasn’t on anything
would probably be bawling her face out into her sheets,
or at least be asleep,
But here I am awake at 5 in the morning,
obviously tired.
Eyes dry and wide open,
Obviously spent
Numb-nosed and hell bent on writing something to read today
I’m typing away at this screen as if my conscience is the only thing
that could hear me if I scream out loud right now.
Enough of that,
filler angst.

I’ve been a juicy story for ya, huh?
Tellin your boys
I ended your dry spell, did I?
That’s quite lovely.
I suppose you ended mine, but I guess I find that hard to define
with a saying as simple as that, “She ended my dry spell”
In my heart, I know how to end you, but don’t be concerned.
I won’t try.
They say I’m too nice.
And when I hear that, I nod twice with my jaw tight
When I hear that, I don’t show them what I write.

I guess I don’t really feel much anger towards you anyway.
No matter what ill will I try to muster up, it’s lackluster and faded.
I mean, I guess it’s mostly me that’s jaded, so
It’s not your fault.
You’re the bystander.
And nothing is really telling you to save me.
Certainly, not I.
Hell, I’d be ****** if you tried.
I mean how much saving do I really need,
if the knots in my chest and around my ankles are this loose?
And I’m drinking this juice with free hands
it tastes sweet but not sticky

Honey, thanks for the truth,
you are a straight shooter-
and I might just be digging that part of you.
That and that we can go at it hard and forever.
That doesn’t hurt, I think.
For that, I can deal with listening to your jabber,
your kissing and telling, your “**** I couldn’t have her.”
Just pass the bourbon please, even though it's only scotch,
there’s still an urgency, to not be sober while you talk.

I don’t know.

This is what I wanted, right?
No strings attached too tight?

I like how you feel against my cheek.
Almost like you mean something.
You’re warm and I’m buzzed,
hanging off the edge of lust
It’s just oxytocin playing the cruel trick.
I remind myself you’re just that.
Oxytocin and some good ****.
But I like how you feel against my cheek.
Just ***** that you bore me when you speak.