If you need to crash, then crash and burn, you're not alone.

I need you so much closer.
Telephone lines and staticky jerky images on

computer screens that you can't hug,

the light pressure your finger tips exert on mine,

the language eyes speak,

the slide across the sheets next to your prone form.

I need you so much closer.

It is my heart that is making the valiant attempts

of leaping out my throat.
It is my mind that works its way rapidly through the

entire host of human emotions, your last words;

alerting me of the tingling in my bellybutton,

the curve of your back away from me,

remembering the time we went swimming,

the 6am drives home,
singing out windows,

my hand remains outstretched, uncertain,

of its own accord.

*

My anger is its own beast,

sprung from the pits of my stomach.

It has eaten its way into my lungs and now lives there,

breathing the same air I do.

I give it Life, but that monster and this one do not

want the same things.

I cough, feeble attempts to expel him,

but he seeks to destroy me from the inside out,

first weakening my resolve and my judgement

before, as a final party trick,

the demon clambers up the walls of my windpipe

and grabs my tongue.

I will no longer speak my own thoughts.

Thoughts and words clouded by Anger,

I will then do his bidding, hurting

everyone around me as well,

and soon after, he would be in them all.

So how do I kill him, before he is the death of me?
*

I retract my now trembling hand,

and let you sleep.

Ruthless.

"Hey, remember when everything was new

and you made me nervous and you

couldn't get enough of me and

we wrote each other essays in text messages

and we'd stay up nights to greet mornings together?

You said I made you happy, and we laughed a lot,

we had so much possibility and promise,

and I was actually interesting and talked about

something other than how fucked up we are now.

We kissed a lot and made up words

and I knew for a fact you wanted me there.

I just need to know that it was all real.

Feelings are so strange and volatile.

How could it be real if it could all end so carelessly,

and could we ever be that way again?"

*

Everything I've written here,

it could all be meaningless and hollow.
It could all mean... white lies in conversations

and faking the way you hold me.

I don't want to cry about this anymore.
I won't lose sight on what's real, what I've felt,

everything you are.