To me,
you have always been a reflex
as natural as
vomiting, coughing, and sneezing
(albeit more pleasant—
sometimes).
Somewhere in my medulla oblongata,
something
is telling me to love you
but I suppose that something
might be tainted by a ghastly neurological disorder
because this
just isn’t working out.

I want you to see all the stories I’ve written for you

But I’m scared the characters will chip and fall apart
Serifs sharp like broken glass
Are you still breathing
while you drown in me?
There is a curve
In soft vowels that create you
and any letter that drops below the baseline, like a sinking rock in the murky shores
My words more often than not drift like wood at sea
Part of something once
But no longer whole
And crushed constantly by blue waves of doubt
That pushes and pulls me
Into every direction
Every lighthouse I've ever seen
has never shined bright enough
to guide me home

a boy waiting patiently at the train station
he lights up a cigarette
can't smell the flowers in his hand
over the smell of petrol

i don't remember what happened
when i saw you
arms stretched, bodies entwined
happy tears, nose kisses

i never did meet you at that station
but if i did
i would still be locked in your kiss

I'm tired...
I'm sleepy...
And the way I cannot think is getting creepy.
I'm worn out...
Exhausted...
But if I take a nap now, I'll get busted.

Vicious cycle, life is a

feeling tired and uninspired
i find myself being more in love
with characters from books
than i ever was with you.