[ i've woken up again, at twothreefour a.m., fighting gravity to feel okay, and losing to the words on this lined paper.]

here we are.

me on my x axis
and she on her y
but we don't intersect
like we should, like
on the graph paper in
geometry.

coordinating coordinates,
but we don't match up at all.
wedon'tmatchupatall.
maybe it's because all this time
i've used her to feel small
hiding in the corner, i've
forgotten
          about
               your
[closed]         eyes

let's just sit here and
pretend we're not alone
for once
and these contagious sighs
she always uses to fill
the silence in b e t w e e n
puffs of smoke from her cigarette
just don't work this time.
(justdon'tworkanytime.ever.)

because there really isn't anything between us
but this sickening, sad feeling that maybe
this is as good as it gets.
and
   i
    think
you
    should
  hate
          this.
(and i wish you would hate this.)

because maybe i'm tired of
making out behind dumpsters,
of holding my breath as your
hand slides down, down my
back, as our tongues do exactly
what they're supposed to do.
maybe i'm tired of sneaking
out behind the dumpster
to pretend we're both in love
and everything that should feel wrong
is only feeling so sad.
and everything that should feel right
has never felt quite right at all.

and, your sigh from that 'y' axis you're on
has reached me now [finally]

and all i can say is

         "just...

                         stop."

stop touching the right|wrong| place on my back
my mouth
my throat is closing up
and i'm afraid it's too late
because  you've
                       already
                            left for the night.

and we can't stop
everything from feeling
(this way)
        when you're up there on your
y axis, leaving me all alone
down here.
                we can't stop anything
             (the way
               you look at me when you can't cry,
                 the way i cry at you when i can't look.)

we can't stop
this from
feeling (so much)

i can't stop how

P   E   R   F   E   C   T

this moment is (not)

how crazy (i wish) this moment's
center has become

So fire me up a "newport"
and close the back door, gate,
and slide your hand down my back and
                                      open your fucking eyes(, and f i n g e r t i p s)
because i'm tired of staring down at
closed eyelids, smoky with the rightwrong color makeup(thatfitsyoujustsoright.)
because your mouth tastes like the color
bluegreenpurple,
and i haven't sinned enough to feel this empty.
because i want this far too much.
because i want this to be everything it's not.

Make this right.
Make this okay.
[Just look at me.]
[Just fucking look at me.]

and you can't, you won't
because i've made you
up again,
and i've forgotten
that you are
just
words on the (air, just words on the)
page.


[ i've woken up again, at twothreefour a.m., fighting gravity to feel okay, and losing to the words on this lined paper.]