I’m sorry I make us late for everything.

I’m sorry that my inability to make decisions frustrates you.
I'm sorry that I constantly seem distracted and detached,
and that I never have any good suggestions
or anything genuinely interesting to say.
I’m sorry that my irrational questions annoy you -
It’s just that I always get caught in these loops of anxiety
that I can’t possibly find a way out of,
let alone explain to you.
I get stuck,
like a broken record, playing the same part of a song
over and over.
My mind convinces me that you’re displeased.
I’m sorry I can’t look you in the eye,
because I know I must have done something wrong.
I’m sorry I withdraw and fall silent.
I’m sorry I consistently expect more, but continue to give less.

why are we like this
spilling words onto paper
in dark lit rooms
with doors closed
heartbreak playing
like a record
and my heart
is the record player

a peace on summer breeze
let sunshine on the trees
and psychedelic days ablaze
with vivid colors in this haze

sky at dusk would lie in wait
and serene was the moon
nearing fate that water was sedate
and the pool flattered me

smiles were frozen upon themselves
with clover and chairs
clustered this grille; with shish kabob  
and flavor that savored the heat

where fire instilled tonight
fore the air was succumb
to this lazy hour of credit
in this town as love beamed

straight to the heart
where tears were heartfelt
and roses where red vinyl was hot
and spun well with the next track

I'd never heard a gunshot until I had.
I had never been an orphan till I lost my dad.
I am a broken lot.
I find sadness when I'm alone.
I am annoying.
My mouth skips records--
I interrupt you when I talk.
I talk a lot.

You wouldn’t let my feet touch ground
until side A died out
and the pirouette ceased.

We laid there in our Analog Atlantis
staring beyond the ceiling
letting the soundscape crash over us
and cascade into auricular orifices.

Our bodies lifted from the mattress,
floating up and up—
past the ceiling, past the trees,
past the planes and clouds,
past the stars and planets—

into the ether we fantasize about
in our synchronized dreams.

Til the sound waves receded,
and our bodies washed up along the shore,
our contours molding into impressionable sand,
turning our gaze to one another—

the needle lifts from the wax
and returns to rest,
the platter ceases its cycle,
the speakers die—

and instead of feet touching ground,
I flipped over to side B.

Goes as follows:

Letting stupidity and
unrequited emotions make me cry,
Hating the numbers on the scale,
Hating myself for eating chocolate,
getting too attached too quickly.

I am not in the business of
getting too close,
so I do not know why I mean to say "No"
but what comes out is too much affection.
You. Thinking of you, keeping memories of you, I'll crush you, I'll leave you
with a permanent ****** imprint of blue.

I'll learn to not get too near,
I'll learn to discard of my souvenirs,
I'll learn to give myself
all this wonderful love
I am so capable of giving to you,

But until then,
hand cuff me and
keep me behind the bars of growth.