I can taste it living.
I get caught looking.
There has to be thousands.
Living it like your last.
I get caught looking.
There has to be thousands.
Living it like your last.
I have to be the worst
person you have ever let
love you.
maybe.
maybe.
my dreams taste bad,
I can smell them
each night
like a creep.
but life is a tasteful noose.
I want to sit on the porch
and listen to the radio
and sing along
without you
in my head.
I miss you.
but you destroy me.
every morning.
when I take a shit.
and when I attempt to read your blog.
which is blocked.
I scream this.
I scream this.
but, it's my own fault.
I should stop trying.
stop thinking.
stop listening to Switzerland
every Friday for silent hope.
my chest is heavy.
and I don't know.
what to do.
anymore anymore.
I hate this feeling
of still feeling you,
because I want to move on,
but I can't dance differently,
because my forever future is still the past.
anything that has a pulse is doing the same.