billybillybilly

I write down what she means
each night on my body;
wish sleep
across sheets more crumpled from moving
in silent exclaimations

(my thoughts wake the neighbors)

and little by little a little
bit more of me, spilt,
runs back toward an ocean each drop
dragged broken along;
glass and needles and half-eaten meals
some looks like i-want-you
a place to sink in and throw all of my dreams toward

overboard, buried or simply confined to,
the deals no user agreed to...

built up from first contact but broken in half,
each drop to a river in search of
the vision
that skeleton hands razed and nailed
(the future we'll never have)
to a door that doesn't exist.

*

I wrote that earlier today. I'm trying to sum up certain things, in my head, into as small and inclusive of spaces as possible. Concise, I guess.

Really though, it's just about masturbation.

I'm sort of going crazy, but I'm not sure if that's a bad thing anymore.