breathe

I am crazy. I am losing you. I have done this before and I wondered why it wasn’t happening here yet. But there are no special moments really, are there? And I have sworn myself out of love before. I have lost myself like this over something as simple as this. I am suddenly swarming, dizzy, lost. How did this happen? Is it the remaining time or would it be like this anyway? I am not going to have you by the time I leave anyway because I am like this. And I only want to cry, why can’t I cry? Why aren’t you here? Why can’t you just come here and look at me and remind me so it all goes away? If you were freaking out I would know, I would get there some way or another to remind you, but you won’t. Love is a shadow on water. And you said you loved me more bit

This sadness, it’s oxygen melted to chemical. It trickles down my crevices, it’s seeping in my pores. Something’s eating my smile, something’s making me slow, but it quickens my wits. Eye contact is a killer, these glances pour heat over me. And suddenly everything is serious, this is where I ruin everything. Every second counts because time is running out and it’s something I never believed in before. I’ve never been okay with waiting, with control but my independency has taken a vacation when all my weaknesses have found their home in my physical world while my defenses are falling to the changes and frights. This was just the easiest if not only thing to hold onto while there are things to worry about like falling from a plane or never seeing your face again, after thirty seven days, and I’m framed in this imperfect picture that I’ve told myself makes me whole. Where are you now?

I’m a rain cloud in the morning with your absence flooding my head. I force myself back into sleep and dream that you’re beside me in your bed. And you’re only down the road, I am nowhere near alone. How will I deal with this when I have finally left home? It is weakness or love but they are one in the same. Your touch is the closest thing I’ve got to angel wings. I tried to make this simple, and not use words like scared, or twist my fragments up to make the best part of this sad. But it’s hard with all this knowing, it’s hard how much I care, hard to pack the important things and know that you’re not there. Of course I’m a free spirit, you’re right I float with the wind, and I hope it always blows me back into your arms again. Or I swear I just won’t breathe the same, like I swear I’m finally different. And if I find something better, I want you to be in it. Because there may be other things that work, other kisses that burn, but nothing fits like this. Every smile makes it so obvious, here and now, this is bliss.

I’m ready

The thing about drug stories is you have to read them so quickly and continuously, you have to get to the climax and then the still point, the recovery. If you stop too long in the center when the drugs are doing big glorious things, you can so easily become a part of the character’s life, make it your own. Even if only a mental sense. And therefore drug stories release that adrenaline…. they make you a junkie of drug stories themselves, rather than the drugs they use in them.

We twist.

Bones crunch, skin stretches.

I step and you restrain,

Our toe cramps.

Our head is heavy,

Body no longer defined.

You rest inside me,

And you never rest easy.

I tell them time and again:

This is the body I occupy here.

But you are more weight than a body.

This joke has become a mystery.

Misery, missed lead, misled.

For a body can’t climb into a head.