Sea

The fear that wakes you up in the afternoon when heavy eyelids after long days and the deprivation of yesterday’s nights kick in.

The word that stretches in your mind. So hollow how can you exist so slim in thought and shallow in person, where is the depth how can your waves not coincide and interfere where is your maxima

Tell me when I can go finding the source of your animus, how can I stimulate it. You are looking over everything and I don’t know whether I admire your vulnerability to moderation and compromise or would anyone rather compensate openess of perspective for color

I want to see you; I want your distinct transitions taking different levels and emitting all your different energies I want to see you.

I want to dream your face tonight and imagine the rest of your body, draw out your words and color you with the thoughts of my first impressions.

I want you. To be through you and with you; colliding.

I want to explore your layers and riddle every word so many times, too many times for repetition to be redundant. I want to see you, not look into your soul and your eyes I want to see who you are, your favorite flavors and distinct style of walking across the street. Every single hair of your existence rises when I look at you, I see through you but I don’t see you.

Your transparent body is full of a spectrum of unknown ideas.

I want to see you and I hope you don’t vanish just yet.

“And it felt like a Kiss”

I’m pretty sure it was a kiss.

In the way he wrapped around my thoughts.

Mouths interlocked.

I’m pretty sure it was a kiss.

The way we talked as though we were infinite.

Shared saliva.

I’m pretty sure it was a kiss.

Daydreaming together and held glances.

Wet lips.

I’m pretty sure it was a kiss.

Because our mouths didn’t need to touch.

Foreign Temples

I am as strange a substance to you as I am to myself. Uncomfortable with the inherent guise, I am not settled inside my body. Every curve and every twist is an itch that turns into a wound.

I bleed and the taste of blood is not the familiar. When I was eight years old my finger scratched against a wooden board, I sucked the blood and was addicted to the flavor of my veins.

At ten, I no longer found home in the little fragile personality. I was strong in every diluted shade.

At sixteen, I look back and I find no familiarity. The ordinary is as un-routine as it can be.

At eighteen I survive three-day migraines and my temples burst with notions of self-destruction.

This isn’t me; I am as alien to you as I am to myself. I’ve fucked too many times to understand what my body means. I’ve learned too many words to understand what they actually connotate. I’ve lived too many lives to understand how death will scare and take away the strongest. A lifetime’s worth of multitudes is a line of too many segments it becomes a set of aimless points. I become apathetic; an avid observer of my former self.

Every single one of me does not know. I am still uncomfortable but addicted to my body. It doesn’t fit, but it feels wonderful to not completely be. An intermittent stage of disknowledge.

I am as foreign as my thoughts are to the outside temples.