All I do is sit and stare and sleep.
I want to eat honey, I want to **** this guy, I want to jump out of my window.
How would they react if I were purged from my room through the window?
The room would hiccup and take a nap.
And it's only the second floor.
I thought that maybe I should come with a warning and waiver
or a stamp on my face that says "crazy."
Then I realized that I do.
Today I'm inhaling rejection,
the fluid and the fire, anywhere I go
the noises and movements wear me threadbare. I'm textured to be foolishly angry, anxious, sad, empty.
No one ever touches me.
I bet if I jumped out of my window, the air would feel cold and the grass would feel cold
and I'd probably only break an arm.
I am a vacuum inside.

Your head on my chest:
thumping hare and cerebral mess,
the electricity and disconnects
drove my rhythms out of breath.
I didn't know that this was you:
a tantalizing wit in lieu
of the neurological faculty to
feel my chest pounding for you.
You are a palpable glitch,
with a brute heart and incisive wit:
my form deflated under it,
I gasp, writhe, and then submit.
My eager sentiment waits for the sound
of your breath catching then and now
and I think that you'll come around
when you grasp at me and moan aloud.
But you are steadily in place,
I, silly hare running a race, breathless face
your backward truth, the callous fate,
the need you can't reciprocate.