Movement

We're dancing.

So close.

I'm into you.

I feel you as we move.

Our brains are so wired.

The anticipation is exciting.

"I can't feel my face when I'm with you, but I love it."

I don't mind the penance.

Glorious days, glorious moments.

Only mine. 

Moan/Mourn

The downward spiral.

My brain is wired.

The lights are dim, the longing is endless.

If not you then another one.

What have I become. 

You were someone else.

And I was so brave.

Sometimes you see the deepest shit on social media.

"We go through phases, like the moon."

It's all about being to relate. Maybe give yourself that temporary satisfaction in knowing you're not alone.

You could feel anything. But it has to be real. 

The fakery all around is exhausting. I can't fight this battle alone. 

But I won't give in, I won't give up.

Not yet. 

The battle lines are still drawn.

You try to prove me right and I'll prove you wrong. 

Infinite Eulogies

I'm talking to myself.

It's like a rubbish soap opera that goes on and on.

You're not here, you will never be.

Maybe I'll play that Duke Ellington record.

Feel old.

Feel glorious.

Or maybe feel nothing at all. 

I don't want you.

I don't need you.

I just want all this pain to go away.

Move on.

But, for what? 

This?