There doesn't exist
a more bitter reminder
than seeing your bedroom
window light up
from across the street.

Showing a silhouette that isn't
yours.

Your mother visits your room
every night now,
she sits at your desk from where
you used to flicker the bedroom
lights to catch my attention.

She cries awhile.

I do too.

There's not enough alcohol in the world
to fill the void you've left.
Your silence holds enough torture
in itself to remain nameless and
beyond anything explored.

Only I know -
I've mapped it out in several pages.

I have mapped out the curve on
your bottom lip that I never kissed,
and below that a chin that's connected finely to the jaw bones
chiseled by God himself.
Your soft palms that sprouted out to five
different ways in which you could have touched me.
Five ways in which I could have held on to you.

I should have.
But I was so stupid then.

Talk to me about research I'm ignorant of,
tell me what you think of it
and then ask me about it to
make sure I'm listening.
Keep me on my toes with intelligence,
I'll be sure to repay you with the equivalent.

Entice me.
Flirtation can be the best weapon if you
know how to make the conversation
sufficiently intoxicating.
Try it.
Do it with me.

It's only when you can **** me
without laying a hand on me,
that I will ever fantasize about
really surrendering myself
to you

having me.

He said it's only a risk if we're scared,
they asked him what they called it
if fear wasn't present.

He said
"A decision."

These are the kind of thoughts that I feel like I need to swallow
because they're on a level of pathetic that I can't even admit to myself.
It's that level of pathetic that really makes a person naked.

The deep dark corners of a person.
It's the trigger of the first tear.
And it all boils down to you.

Your simple acknowledgment of self scares me.
Your self-awareness kills me because
it brings you closer to realizing
that you can do better than me.

*And then what do I do
with this epic love I feel for you?

We don’t ask the questions we want to ask
out of fear of the answer,
or of the lie.

“Would you miss me if I went away?”
“How much do you love me?”
“Would you visit my grave?”

“ And If I died,
would you cry?”

The human life is a curious thing.
And what makes us,
is as fleeting as it’s brought.

And those moments?
we're all of them.
And we carry each one,
everywhere we go.

Every day,
is filled with them.
And every night,
is a funeral.

For the memories
and the moments
that will never repeat.

Sit in bed
and realize
the continuity of time.

And that insomnia,
is simply the inability to
*let go.