Inside, I am a desert
My status sways from
Dry and unoccupied
with slow mitigators making entrance
scavenging in the sand
for some sort of revelation
unbeknownst to them,
to Storms that make their way at night
along with thunder that electrifies
and as they clear away, the sand remains
The next day is as dry as it was before
Pink and rosy subtle cheeks dance upon my eyes
like the silver gleam of your iron heart.
I feel alive when your presence fills my body.
A definable last of luster you entail
Another soul dancing upon the universe
in a way that is utterly mundane.
Despite this, you intrigue deeply.
I suppose I look at to you so highly
simply because you are nice to me.
The lack of serenity I feel when staring at you
serves as a reminder of the incompatibility
between dichotomies inside of me.
I become worried in this state
of expecting, needing.
Overly reliant on
The evaluation of your existence
within a definable vicinity to mine.
I am intense loneliness.
not that of which is devoid of human interaction,
but that which is characterized by the impatient feeling one gets right before their life is about to dramatically change.
when they are about to lose everything they love to something greater.
I am the process and the aid.
I find it hard to exist
in the eyes of the world.
I visualize myself as
a despondent, emaciated
collection of blue bones.
Melting in the corner,
ready to evaporate at
every single moment.
My problem is simple.
My eyes are too full of
all the memories I have
from my childhood.
I’d never do anything
There would always be
something to throw me down
and remind me of all the
times I’ve failed the universe.
As if opinions do not exist,
As if every person is a god,
I fall apart with every
word because my body is
made of paper-mâché.
Though, it is I who lights the
every time I tell myself:
I knew you weren’t anything.
I keep attempting to coat
myself with fire-retardant
however, it is being reduced
to ash that will protect me,
or so I keep telling myself
every time I’m nothing