Do I value permanence over goodness?

Longevity over euphoria


Even as I ask myself these questions I can’t help but imagining pulling you into me

Like a breath; shaky and irregular

Grasping at your hips and waist and running my fingers over what you wish you could remove

And what you already have

Such temporary perfection

But perfection nonetheless


I’m relearning how to fantasize

And how to escape into the wholeness of feeling

If I close my eyes

And just think of you looking at me

There is no concern of forever

There is only the moment

And the moment is good


And so are your kisses

And so is your touch

Inherently right



I wonder how I’ve gone so long

Denying myself my dreams

Torturing myself with easy, and fast

Rough and unconcerned


Being torn into

By those with no fear of loss

And indifference towards tomorrow


The fear is sweeter

The uncertainty more pleasurable


Instead of divided in halves and fourths

It is everything

And it is all at once

I cannot put it down

I pray you don’t make me


I consider sometimes

The option of just relaxing into the pain

And the anxiety

And shame


There is no peace here

There is no alone without lonely

No happiness without contingencies or a time frame

No rest without alarm


I have someplace to be tomorrow but nowhere I’m headed in five years time

I crave rain because I’m thirsty and vodka and mixer is no longer quenching it

I am dying, but it is a slow death with nothing to do in the meantime

The neon only has color when you want it to

And tonight I don’t want anything


I know the words but I cannot link them together

I can only glue them, wrap them with wire, and hope that they set in the right place

Like a broken appendage


This emptiness is cavernous and I know it cannot be filled with small talk, people I don’t know, or kisses (genuine or otherwise)

I want promises

From myself, from you

That we’ll both be here, and hold onto one another

Even when I can’t stand your touch

Or so much as your voice, echoing and muffled behind my closed door


My friend, where are we going?

Running desperately to catch numbers beneath our feet

And hold onto them

Cold metal in empty palms

Curing stomach aches with delirium and sips from opaque water bottles, when the only ones we’re fooling are ourselves


When we open our mouths the laughter does not escape, but turns into perspiration on the backs of our necks

So the walk home feels cold

And solitary

Though we march towards comradery nevertheless

As it is the only way we’ve found to avoid being stung