one at a time I cover the
scars on your arm
and I kiss them.
one
two
three.
looking down at your fingers
I have made up my mind
your hands trace slow rhythms
on my skin
they tremble
you call me sweetheart
I look in your eyes and I
do not understand what I
see
I don’t know what to look for
you look at me too intensely
I have to look away
it is too much, I bite
my lip
I am afraid of the
hungry look in your eye
seeing me but seeing
past me
you sit beside me too close
much too close
but I let you because somehow
I feel that it’s right
alone on the top of the overpass
did you think of me?
did I even cross your mind?
I wonder if you could hear
the wind whistle through
your ears as you looked down
three.
two.
one.
I’m spinning and my
insides are numb.
Give me something
Please give me something to
cling onto
pieces of me are floating
away and I have no
more glue to put myself
back together
I am just another unfortunate
unforgiven.
who cannon stop
wondering where you’ve gone
Sometimes I will be walking
Along streets
Or paths
Your feet will never know,
Not thinking of you,
Breathing in chilled winter air,
And not missing you.
I will see your face
In someone who I do not know
I am constantly at war with myself
Because I am sure that you are being kept behind enemy lines
But I do not know…
If I go in search of you
If I flush my meds
Will I be made a POW of my own WMDs?
"Fatherface (nice:) “Relax. Just relax. So. My girl. Our girl. That’s good. There there. That’s for you. Just for you alone. Our secret. That belongs just to you and me. Keep it to yourself. Just yourself. Then it will be beautiful."
"While it’s true that some people perceive an alternate reality of experience a state of consciousness that is foreign to most, the problem is that society as a whole has chosen to recognize some of these differences as dangerous or broken rather than [as] a unique experience of individual thought"
— Polvora
“this is not my voice filling your ears”
(and these are not my arms holding your body)
pale immobile text won’t give you flesh
but I cup the liquid memories of you in my palms
as if pouring you out on paper will make you real again
I’m trying to pin a shadow
But each time I think I have you,
My hand hovers over you, and clamps shut
And you slither out of the gaps between my fingers
