Incoherent

and inarticulate
and incapable
and insomniatic.

olderthanthenight.

Sometimes it is like I am in love with the sea,
and when I am away I am just empty, and longing, and tragic.
Nothing could compare to the draw to fall to the tides like ichor,
and nothing could ever be the same.
I am always pulled toward melancholy and troubled thoughts,
distance.
Like maybe if we hold tight enough, I will feel whole again.
Like maybe if I hold my breath a little longer.
Like maybe if I am the one who answers your questions.

But if we are living in our heads, when are we real?

It is like we are a binary system: just two black holes.

Us and Them

I just need you to know that I am steeped in emotion and I can't take much more.
Everything continues to fall together around me, but nothing is clear.
This doesn't matter, nothing I am thinking matters.

If the Universe were yelling any louder, I might cease to exist.
What does it mean?

Us and them. And after all, we're only ordinary men.

I wish I slept through the night, the windows are becoming more and more ominous.
But hey, who am I to be affected?
These are your decisions.
I am an outsider projecting emotions and memories onto you, and that isn't fair.

No worries.
I'm just going to keep thinking.
Maybe someday you'll hear them honestly!
(Listen.)

I forget how to breathe.

I am ambiguous, but you are a noun and
our grammar is everything to me.
Nothing tastes as sweet as your thoughts.

Sometimes the breeze feels like you, and I wonder if I could just evaporate if things would be clearer.

I never did feel as at home as when we were nowhere together.

I am dizzy and falling fast.

Tendrils

I am a dancer, but only when everyone is asleep and the only company I keep are shadows and the memories I have stolen.

I feel so weightless, sometimes.
Like I am synonymous with the smoke I am breathing, and I could just curl into the sky and find myself in the wake of novas and feel the skeletal hands of the stars.

Maybe if I could wash my hands in fire.
Maybe tonight I will make it over the fence.

I want to run away, but every time the wind talks me out of it.

But we can sing while we are here.
Intimacy is just another kind of addiction.

I follow the night.
I just can't stand the honesty that comes with sunlight.

Plagiarist by Trade:

...but these days we call them remixes.


Somebody told me that this planet was small.
Everybody finds somebody someplace.


"That's life." That's what all the people say.


If something's on your chest then let it be known.


I've thought of quitting, baby. All of this thinking? I've tried to stop.
But my heart wouldn't buy it.
And if I didn't think it wasn't worth a try? Well.

The rain was falling, and I couldn't see the season changing.
I could feel it, though. I am a polar being, I change with the seasons.

When it comes down to this, I'm neither sorry, nor cross, nor unfit.

But, wait, no.

She's got eyes comparable to sunrise, and it doesn't stop there. Man, I swear, she's got porcelain skin; of course she's a ten, and what am I? From what evil mixture was I compounded?


Are you listening?
(What are we talking about here?)

Listen to my past lives.

We missed each other by a century.

I can say it backwards in my sleep, "It's dangerous to dream."
I can feel it in my bones, in my bones, in my bones--

--the odds of havin' you are none.
(Haven't had a dream in a long time.)

I deal with the real so if this is artificial, let it be.