Sit.

I am brittle
I am bruised
I am barefoot
I don't want to feel used.

I am sleepwalking
I am avoiding
I am demolishing
I just want to feel something.

I am livid
I am remorse
I am smitten
I can't handle the choice.

The ropes bust
jerking at the wrist,
the hands collapse
fearing they will twist.

Exhaustion is welcome
inviting the drug to seep,
plumping the vines
it claims its provocation to weep.

Rolling down the hill
blurring momentary escape
she then plants below
where she wishes she could still grow.

"You have stolen my heart"

I cannot speak of anyone else,
you never vacate my mind
or leave the shelf.

I want you to be around,
I keep you around,
I cannot bear you beneath ground.

So your frame stays,
your memories continue to flood
and I breathe you in my blood.

Will I ever be able to admit?
You are forever gone,
left me feeling wrong.

I got used to the pain,
bled for a chance to heal
a chance to retrieve what was real.

But was it ever real?
I sit here abandoned
feeling rationed.

You will never step foot
on my mat in prediction
for you have ultimately left
leaving me bare hope as a theft.

Block Out

I awake curling up to absence
Nestling against a piece of fur
Intentionally substituting your cocoon.

Salt burrows out from the lids
Forming an ocean matching the sheets
Conveying a shivering presence.

I bleed to find that divot
Searching ever crevice
I find a vast empty surface.

Silence prevails
Crippling a cycling solemn show
Engulfing the debris of bones.

Mental Exhaustion

I would rather sit in silence
after realizing where I am.

Alone in my car at 11:31 pm
in a dark parking lot.

Waiting to breathe
Hoping to lift a muscle.

Sometimes a mere voice
is too much noise.

- - -

I venture to bed at 5:22 pm
clenching that teddy bear.

I visualize that night
that circle of warm arms.

I cannot see through the fog
you are not there.

Squinting I see a box
containing an end.

I see remnants of your face
I taste my kiss upon your hand.

I fall again for the thought
I cannot enclose in my mind.

Fidgeting for fear of the truth
I resume my sleep torture.

- - -

Awake to a phone call
I am used to yearning.

Hit ignore
It is what I do best.

I dream of warm pasta
while sprawled out on the couch.

One glimmer within a second
I rise.

Create a dinner
and return to the couch with no surprise.

Never wanna open my eyes

Knuckles locked at each angle
Nails protruding for grip
Palms sweaty in anticipation
Awaiting to weave around your shoulders.

Sternum strongly perked
Breasts wavering
Thyroid contracting
Beating rapidly for touch.

Stomach shaking to your graze
Back numb to the heated muscle in your palm
Neck blood pumping from the sponge on your face

Hair gripped
Toes erect
Eyes close
Foreheads collide
Strong inhale
Bodies aligned