He turned to me and said, "It just creeps up on you, the way it creeps up on you."
12 hours into your day, you feel inadequate and less than death
And I understood this, so I nodded my head in his direction

"I built up my entire identity"
On many singular things

And it's just so hard right now
"To identify who I am"

Under all this skin "and bone
And a too-caffeinated" heart

Pumping blood so loudly
I'm unable to hear myself

             "think"

And the gray "floods over me"
And I forget what it is to have color

What these cones in my eyes
Were really meant to perceive

And as if there is something able to be discerned by human minds
I turned to him and said, "I know so little about this world
And how it works, but I do know the meant to be"

And "you are not" that grayness
Penetrating your skin, bleeding through your clothes

"And" those eyes that used to shine hazel
Because it's "not what" you're meant to be

It's not who you are "forever"
It is an inescapable "right now"

And those words are too silly and cliché
For me to employ in a real way

So I use them ironically
Knowing that a cliché is a cliché

Because it was able to communicate
At its core some sort of truth

So people repeated it, as if
Repeating by itself creates truth

And at that moment we both realized that each other's eyes
Were brown and blinking in tandem and I could see it  
In both of our eyes a burning question

"Why do we let people affect us this way?"

As if we have a choice

As guilty as I am, I guiltlessly tell you that I miss you
You're never home, but hey, neither am I
Your freedom is important to you, and I want to understand that, but I can't say that I already do  

Now I have this aching, this urge, this itch, this feeling, that screams at me I have to appreciate you
And now when I try to do just that, you run away from the house which we used to live in

I hurt you whenever I pursued Romance
And that was wrought with a lack of understanding from both of us

And now here we are, standing so far away from each other, yet only a couple miles removed,
and I don't know who
or where
or what
you are anymore



You remember when we would love poetry together?
Do you remember the feelings we had and the solidarity
I remember feeling like you losing your faith was the worst thing that could happen to both of us,  


and then it happened to me

I remember fostering our relationship by going to a church which only you go to now
I miss when we talked about doing drugs in the abstract, never actually doing them
I miss when I could tell you about Romance, and you would listen

I miss sharing my whole self with you
I miss sharing any of myself with you

Thin, white, and a golden rose watch
Diagonally across, I sit and watch
The perhaps brilliant musings of a blonde determined to be studious
And ask only the best questions, of what do I do with this
Beautiful pony tail wrapped piece of gold
Who is no more an object than she is decrepit old
And if at one time she'd look and see this poem I write in her presence
Would she deny it like daggers or receive it like presents?

I do not know, and isn't that the whole point?
To not know, to keep the mystery in joint,
The one I have as close to me as my knuckles
And an Erosical conjecture that buckles
And heaves as if to tell me that it's not right
To sit and watch the watch to my right

Yet this conjecture is as valid as it is fruitless
Just an inflection as invalid as she is cuteless
But the cuteness still doesn't inspire me
To inhale holiness and ask the dreaded why are we
Sitting so terribly far apart, my Heart,
When we could be together a beautiful piece of art?