IT’S 2 A.M

hello crickets. im sad. (the wonderful thing about crickets is they’ll keep chirping if you’re talking to them)The world is at a crossroads. It’s silent and heavy. The cultures the clashes. The cancer, the caving. The careers and consultations my mentors suggest. I look at beautiful woman and I want to tell them they’re beautiful. To smile. I look at men I have some interests with and I want to tell them “hey man, that’s cool.” the comment alone is enough for me as a interaction. sometimes It’s lonely. sometimes you want them to be interested in what you have to say. Sometimes you want a meaningful conversation. sometimes I don’t want to fantasize about sexual trysts. I just want to roll around in some grass and wiggle my toes and I want someone just opposite of me wiggling their toes in the dirt too,- and we notice each other doin it and we keep on wiggling our toes. I want to share that connection with someone else. I want someone to think the same exact thing as me for 5 minutes straight at least, and it’s unfortunate sex is probably the only time that’ll hold a true sentiment. but maybe not. at 2am I become myself. it’s for two things, nobody is up, it’s quiet and it’s dark. so you can be yourself, think and the darkness compels you to stay inside. preferably in a room alone. The leaves are slowyyy beginning to fall. I hear crunching in the grass more often when I walk everyday. the breeze has a scent to it. the sun hits you as if to say “prepare my child, I won’t embrace you like this for awhile” you’re on your own. Kids are back to school and yellow is a common theme. this summer was a thunderbolt and my life changes like the sea in a hurricane. It’s almost 2015 and I’ve barely known you 2014. I’m tired of trying to please people by lowering my standards. why do people leave me? Sometimes I feel if I’m nice to a girl she’ll think I want sexy or a relationship. And I’m categorized into this placer with a bunch of other men. I don’t feel like a man when I’m categorized, I feel like a dinger. I sigh when one of my questions turn into avoidance. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to confuse you. or if they think I’m suitable they’ll invite me further to chat. I just want a friend. sometimes I feel too smart and other days too dumb. sadness knocks on my door and says just this one time. I kiss you and think, “just.this.one.time” I lunge at the thought of having a friend. selfish to the fact I knew its hurt you more than me. loneliness makes you desperate. but it’s okay, alcohol and coffee make you new my dear. Sinatra on the record player just isn’t enough these days. his voice doesn’t make me smile enough these days. the glass stains with wine become a more repetitive thing. And I just can’t seem to put things together. God is looking more like a scapegoat. What about the times he let me down? Was he testing me then? this is the single most longest test and he’s the single most patient proctor. I’m starting to think the test doesn’t exist. actually I know it doesn’t. it’s 2am

Quoted for emphasis on, fuck my life.

It’s been a minute, how you doing? Just trying to laugh with you. Making a joke or two, just laugh with me. I realize it isnt going to work if we both aren’t in it. But I want it to. Foggy visions. Wanting both of us to be in it. I- i, i..i stutter in my thoughts, so talking without this muse would be disaster. If I’m the rain that nourishes thirst, you’re the hurricane that uses the rain that it’s named after. Sprinkling chakra. The way the winks made me feel unique to someone. They say all snowflakes are especially different, so tell me why wouldnt a kiss then? They have the same characteristics. It’s a personable haste. Now a blizzard is personification. you’re both fun to put in my mouth, and adorably cute, a signature is etched the fibres of my tongue; but last but not least you’re exceptionally cold. Once, I expect to be told. I expect to be loved. I expect the gentleness of said snowflake, to be lunged. They say doves only have one lover their entire lives, and if that other partner dies they’ll be alone forever. I dont know, whatever. Why I compared myself to a bird. Cause birds fly, and it felt you kept me down all the time. Clipped my wings and set me to fail. I try to take off, but noticed snips in my tail. I refused to believe you were the one to do this, because ignorance to the bliss is solely therapeutic. I’d never get on through it. I remember the way your fingers fluttered across my chest. Nails meshed in with the gentleness of your flesh. It was hot. Not sexually, but a warmth a gauge of temperature couldnt even describe. Your finger tips so soft, but your nails scratched me. It was the perfect portrayal of how you could be so soft then hard the next second. It’s almost stupid to remember it so vividly. When I’m sipping coffee on the veranda it seems to just hit me. Black and white memories, cause if it were color you’d be blinded by it. Red is all I remember, and it wasn’t clearer than water. Maybe that’s why people say blood is thicker than water. Somber. akin to the descriptions of when people say they could feel the words in a song. That. Or the feelings of when a group of people listen to the same tune and slowly start singing along. That. Or when you hug someone you want to, and for that moment you’d feel you never feel all alone. That. I sorta chuckle when I write this. Eyes watery, I never liked this. I sift and I wander thinking to myself what I couldve done right; it’s. Sifting through every single thing hoping to correct myself for the future. Living in present, pretending to not be weary of the past. Irrelevant to the sutures you took out in the stitches of time. The clocks ticking. A glimmer, a shine, a jingling chime, a smidgen in the make-up of a rocky relationship. I made jokes about rocky relationships saying I love every movie Syllvester Stallone was ever in. I’m sarcastic, you hate it. Wanting someone to laugh, the impatience. Is getting to a point where the room turns to sepia once I step into it. Grayscale erosion, it used to be beautiful the colors eroded. Try explaining the color to a blind person, you can’t. Stuck in a dilemma, of painting pictures of you with no canvass to draw on. Relationship is getting to the point where only my hard on is all theres to look forward. Lift my soul out my body, anytime you it was warranted. I was already in your prison, I didn’t even need that warrant of arrest. I don’t know why I have memories of me kissing you in third person. I guess that’s the closest I get to an out of body experience. I’m always making you laugh, so it’s tough to tell when I’m serious. Into a bar, I didn’t want to drink – ordered a soda. Putting up a front, different persona. Bartender looks at me, as she fills up the glasses. Pub wit a fire place, the crackling in corner is all I hear, and it’s happening. Until I fill it up with liquor to forget that it happened. It’s funny, we use wine as means to have some confidence. Then we use it to lose consciousness only to wake up regretting it even occurred. Soul is bound by a union, to protect and to serve. A kiss represents a sticker. Hope we arent strangers now, there would be a time where I couldnt predict what you did, but if you did it when you did it, I knew that you would. It wouldnt be because you werent predictable, it would be cause when you put your hand to my chest, my heartbeat was giving you visions of what do to next. My sexual psychic, with prophetic visions embedded in the circles of your palm. I kiss those circles with my tongue. God knows whats in the future for us. Too bad My tongue couldnt decipher your palm in that moment. If only I could lick your other palm, I would but nowadays that’s impossible. You quickly remedied your movements as if I had to guess what to do next. So passive aggressive; not obviously, but it was so subtle I barely noticed. Now I dream, and when I dream I wish I wasn’t asleep. It hurts. I’m awake now, but I wish I was dozing. Crying to myself in bed, I buy them white so the tear soaked stains aren’t as relevant to see. I see you in the clouds, I see you in the puddle I forcefully restrain myself from stomping on in the rain. They say eyes are a mirror to the soul, but all I see in reflections are eyes darker than coal. If that’s true, I hope it doesnt mean everything is in a heap of ashes. Keep your glasses off, you look cuter without them. Keep your glasses on, they look cuter without you.

I like fictional books. The main character is always me.

Feel the vectors into orbit, melting into fiscal porn
Each waking moment. Exists to mourn the pensive rigor mortis
And I hate myself so much every. single. morning.
Its like clockwork. Lonesome. Staring in the mirror.
See a monster. Bones drugged. Mainly see the errors.
Home drunk. Sloppy. With a motor function failure
Open palm my soul in one. The shodokans prepared
Im off the bat. Im off the case. Im solely here to reap
A wad of air I waste. So oddly placed you forget to even breathe.
You wake up in your sleep. Catch your breath, and then youre weak
Wake to a dim reality that youre never truly buzzed
Whole life I never felt hungover.
Till I was happy once, then got drunk, so THEN I felt hungover
Like ignorance was bliss, sort of an ignorance to drugs
To duly know that without or with that my life just really sucked
Like ive been wasted the entire time, while I was fucking sober
Bring the jester in, and clamor while I become a fucking stoner.
Unbelievable. The whole time I was fooled into misnomer.
Eat and see, consume and teach then touch just like conformist.
You arent watching a trainn wreck this is not a pure performance.
This is unadulterated steroids being pumped into my assortment
Lie inside apartment. Learing at the star scape.
See your jaw to constellate. Im so pleased to see your star face.
Everything I wrote, always had someone in mind.
Overcoat. And overwhelmed. Now dear no one resigns