Imperfect Occupant:

Seeking Four Walls To Vent,

Always On Time With Rent.

Lacking Friend, Family,

(Roommate?) On The Fence.

Long Lease, Lost Romantic.

Carefree And Losing It.

1) a bookstore in May,

2) your apartment in Maine

3) an airport in spring

4) random chinese food place

5) my apartment (2nd floor)

all in all,

only stars left above,

all i can't change or create,

asking for phonecalls,

but they all spin away.

gone are the days,

i am asked if i'm okay,

now i just sit and think away,

every drunken thing i cannot say,

until stars have long passed,

then i say im awake.

your sun-dried absence,

thinly layered in daylight,

then tonight:

all the waterfalls call to arms,

alarming my life, and yours, and all,

but none of these words,

truly describe my loss.

hearts were meant to break,

i don't know if yours ever did,

but i know what it's like without you.

if you arrived,

i couldn't hold myself apart,

i'd split in to ten seas,

hoping you won't notice me.

duck my head in the bars,

like you used to use me.

I'd carry your breath to a beach,

stumble a bit,

and let go of your leash.

smell your hair,

shortly then, i show my teeth.

only a dream says you can leave.

but if you arrived,

i would paint ten-million lives,

just to live without a single one.

that blurry eyed blushing color,

paints the sky at the back of my head,

knowing limbs of mine are in pain.

pressed against you again and again.

but a whole army,

couldn't keep me refrained.

bolting waist deep in the trees,

searching for suffering and identity.

spraying words that staple me.