My wants are trumped
Your needs are the scissors to my paper.
My time alone, is your fidgeting.
Your alone time, is my suffering.

Do as you want.
Make a list of things I love.
And give them priority how you see fit.
Look at yourself;
You are beautiful,
Beautiful on the outside.

You.
YOU.
Please address your alone time.
Your thoughts.
Needs and wants.
I should be flattered. I feel its always me-
but it should not be.
I can’t go on like this. Something,
Some thing. Has to give.
And I can’t keep giving.

My runny nose,
A tell tale sign.
Sigh, sigh sigh.
I try, tried with you tonight.
Don’t I go to enough effort?
Could I do more. give give give give give?

“I’m communicating”
-Great. Now I can see you needy you are.
Now I can see what your wants are,
Your effects on me, if you had your way would have me useless,
timestarved. We’d sit there, doing nothing, talking about nothing.
Tired from our night of rubbing up against one another.

Afraid that if we part, or sleep or leave eachother’s company the world would end.

I can’t accept that.
I don’t want that.
I’ve been there.
I need space.
I need rest. I’m sick, i’m sick i’m sick.

I hear what you are saying.
I don’t know why you can’t sleep alone.
You are needy.
Clingy.
Needy needy needy.
HIGH MAINTENANCE.
You’re the fridge with the bad rating.
The energy usage is all wrong.
And you don’t even keep cool.

When I close the door,
the light comes on-
On my phone.
“I miss you”
Well you didn’t seem to be enjoying my company.
And you said all the wrong things.

You need practice in my company.
I’m afraid of hurting you-
you, don’t think I don’t care.
Its not that.
Not that at all.

But,
there is always a but.
And a butt. Three butts tonight.
The butt of the story.
The joke, is on me.
Because I can’t sleep.
Grinding my teeth.

We share,
insomnia?
Hardly. Just a tight jaw and a head full of words and
more.
More things to think though,
as I think of you.
more.
more and more,

Abc
Abs
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
And my abs stronger.
Spelling.
A.B.S
Another bad sleep.
Spaces. to fill. Time, gaps. Pages, chapters.
Of my life.
Life, finding out what makes others tick.

That’s what I say.
My goal. But i’m learning, sitting quietly.
Important thoughts will bubble to the surface.
The things you ask and share,
determined by how many walnuts and how much chocolate soy milk you have drunk that day. The quality of your fuel denoting the quality and the extremity to which you indulge and pursue – peruse conversation.

The difference, between conversation and talk.
I don’t know. What’s more important. Which spurs which.
Who decides? Can we get a dictionary out? Our phones… i mean.

When is Speigel Tent opening?
Who wants icecream?
What’s going on this month?
-Any short term goals?
In the afternoon?
“no the evening”

Aren’t they interchangeable for the most part…

I ASKED YOU WHEN YOU USUALLY FINISH WORK AND YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME AN ANSWER BUT THEN PULLED ME UP ON 6PM BEING EVENING AND NOT AFTERNOON. GOODNIGHT.

Your life,
The choices you make.
They follow a taught rope.

Sometimes I feel fear.
Anxiety. Shuddering.
Paralysis. Realisation. How I am choosing-
to live.
Pages, chapters, years.
Wants, needs. Worth(while)
REAL. I make them all up.
I give point, I give reason,
By spending my time.
My life force, my energy.

Life- your linear life.
A tightrope.
A tightly strung rope.
From A to B it is held.

When the anxiety strikes,
I feel like I see my end;
I understand that my choices NOW-
Are leading me onward towards “THERE”-
The FUTURE, THEN.
This will happen,
THEN, that,
THEN, that,
Then that…
If I make this decision,
different, a different decision.
A change here. One that… changes that.
THEN,
*and it feels like something is sawing*
Sawing at my rope.
A serrated knife,
cutting into line.
My life-line.
My rope.
The obvious choices.
The straight line of my future.
Cutting.
My world shakes.
The backlash if there is a break.
Snapping. Recoiling.
The dissolution
The drop, crack, flop.

A flop, like a joke that doesn’t hit home.
That just isn’t funny.
To kid.
To pretend.
To say you want something and not really.
To explore and evil side of yourself with sarcasm in mind.
To pretend. TO PRETEND to JOKE TO NOT MEAN IT.
FLOP.

My world shudders.
I am anxious.
My future,
I recoil.
Decisions. Tight.
Tense.
Sawing.
Shaking,
Shuddering,
splitting,
snapping.

And it all changes.
The clouds break.
The sun shower,
Everyone is soaked,
Sweat, from the run for cover combines with the thunderstorms heavy dump.

A dump.
A steaming,
Streaming
dreaming

pool of dump.
Piss and shit.

My scratchy eyes,
The fence, my urine has dissolved you.
My piss is acid.
However dilute.

And sharing this
I break the red pact.
The button – ‘mute’
dispute? Compute?
Doubtful.

But its written.
The discussion with myself
My mind. WRITE or FORGET.
Writing is my answer to a floored,
Flawed memory.

Falling from the tightrope.
Coils, resting peacefully like feathers.

Young peacock.
May your colours never fade.
Happy Valentines day.

Hight Maintenance.

“one more of those and she’s done” – Jon Foley-Donoghue.