If I write,
I don't exist.
I'm simple code in a simple form
I am the words your brain will scan
I'm part of the machine.
Someone told me once
that I kept the relationship together.
Said that if I didn't text first,
that if I didn't put the effort to communicate
we'd be nothing
I'm tired of being the one that does it
I'm so tired of caring so much for people that
would never care
in a fractioned metaphor
of my feelings
Maybe like leaves
you'll slowly drop from me
bits and pieces,
slowly but surely
and I'll be left bare.
Perhaps in the slow form, it'll be easier to handle
I'll know its coming
I'll let go before you release.
BUT IT'S JUST ONE DAY, J
no
nononononono.
No, it is not
It's every day.
You don't care.
I think that it's time for me to do the same
WHAT AM I DOING?
I'll ask again
what? am I doing?
I can't remember.
I had a plan for this, I had to have had a plan for this
it had a story
the ending wouldn't just cut off.
I must keep going.
help
If I down a few more melatonin,
I'll fall asleep eventually.
BUT WHAT IF YOU RESPOND DURING THAT TIME?
I DONT CARE I DONT CARE
The latter is the convincer
I'm much too manic to listen
much less understand.
I think that I'm severely depressed.
These episodes need to stop.
I wish that I could smell things.
I wish more than anything that I could smell things.
that way I'd find some comfort in her jackets.
they're physical.
here, they cradle my body
and though it is my movements
they rock me to existence.
I wish I could smell
so that I could find some sort of security in describing to you
exactly what it means to smell you.
Given that I can't talk
Given that I can't smell too
It all feels pointless.
I miss things that I never get the chance to comprehend.
I miss whatever it feels like to realize you love me
I miss waking up in your arms, too
but I know what that's like
I miss it a lot.
I don't get hugged a lot or touched a lot
at least not in a good, loving way
I don't get told I'm beautiful even if my hair is a mess
and my morning breath burns away wills to live
I don't curl up in peoples arms and trust them with my being
I don't wake up without nightmares flooding an already drowning mind
until you
until those nights with you
and being away from that was torture.
I have hated every night since then.
I'm overflowing with these ANTAGONIZING
wants to be back against you.
the sleepy arm misses compression
half-awake eyes miss the blurry form your good mornings kiss into me.
I love you.
I love you
and I'm okay-
I'm better now writing that. I'll be fine eventually.
but I can't just keep holding up the world
the relationship
in hopes you'll give me a hand when you feel like it.
So goodnight.
Because you still haven't responded.
and at this point?
I'm not surprised.
I'm just
...

Passing around a fatal flaw like a joint in a hot box,
Refreshing baths of Coca~Cola and regretful indulgence
We are wasting away in a paradise of my creation

Poems tinted grey through abstinent romanticism,
and an inexplicable undertone inherent to my prose.
As everything starts to return to a drumming constant.
It all sounds the same.

We've been sunbathing in porcelain skies and empty daydreams.
Drab and dreary and acid washed.
Interrupted like a beach by the sea,
By the little pieces of drug soaked warmth that act as comforting distractions.
A smile or a shoulder or a sunny day to drink from.
Summer and solitude, the likeness of warm bodies in a cold pool.
So.
Compose me an opera of Soda Cans and of choral song. Synthesise two bass lines and slow drip coffee and pollen and folk.
Make it for me so I can watch you as you work.
Let me listen and bask in its ludacris vanity, and clean shallow waters.
How I would relish the time spent muddying the current. Destroying the tide I desired out of boredom.
And black hot frustration.

Flowers painted in acid and acrid accounts of repetative revalations in the context of rude rosy cheeked romance.
Blonde haired ignorance and one dimensional delusions.
Blue eyed terrorists armed with air and arrogance.

Give me seatwarmers and handholding
Or corvettes and convertables.
Give me arrowheads and heart attacks
Humble my bones with a cardiac

!F.R.I.E.N.D.S.!
SITCOMS
ADJASENT PLOTLINES
mumble rap
AND ***** TALK HOTLINES
four letter words with little context or meaning and selfless expression that's often demeaning

Its September in January and it rains for a day
And despite all our efforts
The days waste away

If I must go blind
to stare into the sun,
SO be it.
I'll squint my eyes,
making rainbows with my lashes

Life has changed
Turned upside down
We feel estrange
There's no one in town

People are suffering
Alone and in silence
No words are comforting
No truth no guidance

Out of control
All taken all dictated
Our dreams, it stole
This virus is hated

A thief of happiness
The devil of separation
A venom so poisonous
Man's worse creation

No touch, no kisses
No hugs, nor tickles
Its crazy and infectiouness
Its rapid, its careless

We despise this pandeminc
Its heartless , its manic
With hope and patiently
We will conquer tenaciously