I can’t describe the feeling of being gone
It just is
and I can’t tell you why I take stages in self destruction
I just do

The drive home is a blur
I’m recalling past memories from other drives on the same roads
In the same condition

I’m a walking contradiction to the facts they set before me
Oh and I am
Suddenly displaced in the crater of the road

My body scattered in emotional bits
Dashing through and about speeding cars as the foliage parts
And I am again, gone and about in the whole of my sickness
Disengaged with my feet, facing the most attractive in the room, subconsciously leaning into you and finding...

utter nothingness, and I can't tell if there is comfort in that, or complete disdain
needing
and realizing, that being pressed against the iron gates doesn't mean I’m in hell
bra-less
effortless

and acid seeping from every opening possible
cannot even describe the way I felt--feel for you

no, no. I am.

unorganized, sickly and discombobulated in my own sick fucked up world

wishing for you in it, running when you are.

clams
carrots
cake
and you.

seeping into my blissfulness and reminding why I am the way I am
bloodless in September
scared and then sacredly running back and forth from door to door

retracing grandfatherly steps to
collapse at the archway of your home, and sink into the goodness of the sea stripped air

kiss me there
and leave me, freely
so I can swim back to the shores of Andropolis and embrace the heavenly sand that is crushed sediment and fury beads

oh, your name echoes throughout the hoods of used cars and missing appendages, I can't help but proclaim my love to such sound waves
I can't help but do allow myself to be as fervent as you
and climb into the backseat of a Volvo and breathe in the heaviness of old leather

maybe my childhood is missing me, wanting me, and swaying forward in anticipation of my memories to just...fade
clutch me here, now, sweet child, and worry not.
I am a sane as a butterfly on a moon strung night
kissing the dark blue sky with my blood pumped wings
across my old stomping grounds

kissing boys I once thought I knew, and pulling away to find them aged, but still young

God, it feels right as rain to be here
to say I can feel sickly because I am allowed
and to not feel dead inside for the mistakes I have made

I have lost nothing.