You
       are
every missed
con    nec    tion,
every
pause
I didn't know
how to fill,
every ship I
sent out that
never reached
its designated
shore. I never
really had you.

If "settle" wasn't a bad
word I would tell you
all the time that it's what
I want to do with you.
Because your voice is the
only one I want to hear
humming in the kitchen
when the sun is barely
awake. You are the last
person whose quirks I
want to learn, whose
mouth I want to memorize
the taste of, whose body
I want to call my own.

And
just

the whole time you
were talking I was
watching your hands
and thinking about
how I'm going to
miss the way your
fingers drum on
your knees and
always make their
way over to me and
start a beat on every
surface of my skin.

I can't do this.

This is for every sinking heart.
For every sleepless night.
Every set of lungs
gasping for whatever
will keep them from collapsing.
I know that air is not enough.
I guess my eyes couldn’t hold
my weariness any longer,
because it floods all my bones now.
An ocean inside each one,
and I’m still dying of thirst.
I cannot stop the pounding in my head,
the pounding in
my head,
the pounding
in
my
head.
I feel nothing.
I feel everything.
It’s okay.
Let me be.
Ghosts don’t like to lie down anyways,
they’re too busy filling my head.
The floor will feel softer one day.
It will feel softer one day.
I hope it feels softer one day.