I forgot what shivered bones felt like
I forgot about weak indexes and knees
I forgot how I sometimes used to forget how to breathe
I forgot about the blood pumping head crunching beats
But simultaneous yawns, constant blushing, and white teeth don't erase the past in me
I find warmth in your fingers and the sun shines from your mind,
but the snowflakes and ice cycles come back sometimes

I don't need anyone to pretend to care about my apathy.
I want to smoke cigarettes and skip meals and nights of sleep.
I want to cry to Elliott Smith and for the clouds to hide the moon because I need the darkness for a while.
The moon is shy, leave her be.
She's either shy or wants to hide.
The lunarity of my own skin shares the same feeling tonight.
I want to hide.
I want people to stop expecting me to be present, available, ready to listen
just because I have to be.
Just because I'm forced to be here.
Because I'm not being held to the earth by anything except gravity.
I don't really have to be here.
I'm choosing to be.
But gravity doesn't exist on the moon and I'm indecisive like she is;
I go through phases.
Right now, I want to be new.

Most days I am sad.
Most days I am swallowed whole by my emotions; Most days I am consumed by the darkness.
But I cannot leave.
I am enamored of the silence.
I am obsessive about the sorrow.

here we write our epic
from first post
to last bugle fading
and all your readers
throw in a handful of dirt
the day you stopped singing
and turn away to their bowers
to continue in this stranger than fiction endeavour
writing out their hearts and minds one big poem stitched together