honest

I have let myself become consumed by this bed
swallowed whole and looking at photographs
honest, I wish I had taken them myself
I crave images and noise like a hunger
five years ago from today,
I fell into a trap, unknowingly

blanketed in sorrow that has left me
with anxious reactions and a capacity
I am unable to handle
weight
honest, I never seem to know where I am going,
I wonder if I would not be here if you still were.

these past few days I have stayed in one place
even when I no longer held a purpose-
looking around myself, I have become aware
growing out of this town and becoming scared

I am exhausted of this cycle,
of doing and doing and never being
of writing and writing and never seeing
of loving and loving and never finding
of breathing and breathing and never feeling
whole or pure or perfected

I am not hopeless, but I know fear
honest, I am not doubting greater belief
but I am surrounded by small things
and grand thoughts
that I am unable to express
in this orange box

my bedroom walls know me well,
read me like a magazine
they know every page, every fold of my body
they know every thought and desire inside of me
honest, they’ve got me all worked up
mocking my insanity, testing me with irony.
coward and corroding

my bedroom walls play show and tell,
reveal my emotions like a favorite toy
first comes loneliness, then abundant passion
to do more than type up my identity
to become more than a simple entity

honest, I don’t know where I am going with this
I hold no grand scheme or hypothesis
I began looking at photographs,
I ended up here in this mess
leaving these passages open ended-
falling asleep to silence and the eyes of my bedroom walls
I will only be alone when I feel nothing at all