hotly simmering in my veins,
just beneath the surface.
i'll have it any other way.

making small talk,
i'm acting as if i'm not adraid.
but i'm oh-so sick of
the talking, dancing around, ghosting.
rinse n' repeat,
i'm gonna keep this away.

but i want it,
but any other way.
'cause it's so nauseating
chatting, smiling, being a little flirt,
then curling up in bed.

and it is still simmering hotly, in my veins.

i'm on edge,
this i must confess.
i want, no i need to hold her face
i need the stars aligned today,
the cosmos leads my fate
and i need her in this place.

'cause it's blue and gray in here,
but she's my sunflower
could order the sun to face her,
such greatness...

and i would kneel for her, would stand by her,
would leave the rest away.

so i'll have it any other way...

Sitting in my room,
time drags, slow and heavy.
Is this what it means to mature?
Sitting, studying, working—
or does the weight of it make me feel grown?

I feel tired,
yet the hours demand more.
Working, working...
this night stretches long,
a weary silence pressing in.

Barking sounds stir me—
had I drifted off?
Is this what it means to mature?

I am tired of the tiredness itself
which is even to tired to consume me,
so that I could go through the digestive system of tiredness
and come out again,
at least those parts of me,
that the bowels of tiredness can't digest.

a blue
hue
disperses
pain
in
my
veins
i
see
my
pale
reflection
in
purple
dewdrops
i
don't
know
why
impassive
moments­
are
icy
fogs
i
was
tired
of being
tired
from the
onset
of depression
i
am
fed
up with
my
ennui

I’ve been asleep
inside my head
my pillow is soft
but my blanket like lead
falling off
it slips
I doze
My feet come cold
my toes
exposed
I tug and turn
inside my dream
I pull and stretch
and tear the seam
And in my sleep
I spill the wind
dreams of
frosts that ****
and a sun that grins
Now with the chill
against my chest
I wake with eyes
that find no rest
between winter sheets
I’m as cold as dead
It’s just a leak
in my waterbed

Why does the water tastes bitter?
Why does the wind smells acrid?
Why does the sunshine looks gray?
Why does the days feel empty?