(My) Eyes are Intense (like Fire)

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


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 
of recognition,
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
once again

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