New found poem

“End of an addiction.

No more shortcuts or

bottled water,

No more winter.

No more girls with red hair.

Only the remaining decimal points rounded off - somwhere out of sight.

and the airport is not home dummy and

we will begin boarding shortly.

The pulse of blood, in my fingertips, in your fingertips,

useless.

We tuck oursleves into bed now.

The noise out side becomes another song

with words we can’t remember.

I’m talking to myself and i am talking

to myself, i’m ten. I’m pretending.

I made a new language - like pig latin

or some shit. I’m in the backyard digging

for buried treasure. I am telling myself

a Cinderella story everyday so i can

really believe I am beautiful, young, and

a fairy tale ending - of course.

‘Normal guys don’t want this.’

Normal guys wont admit to wanting this.

I wonder how you read this and what you think I am

talking about because it isn’t like that

at all. This is a message where the words

do not mean what they seem. I’m talking shit

about me to me and as long as I can use my own

language and pretend I am a code-breaker or a

numerologist I dont have to remember that someone

else is inside you now, and your saying “please.” over and over until they explode.

I know it’s nowhere near as good as it was with me and never will be which should

make me satisfied but the worst part is that you are okay with that.”