i'm claustrophobic, crawling in my own space.
trying to train myself to pick up my messes,
throw away the things that no longer apply
to this life of mine anymore.
and i keep imagining that if i write down this clutter,
someone will be kind enough to throw it out to the curb
and let me rest peacefully.
but, it's here. and i'm exhausted.
it's as though too many boxes of your memory
can throw me off,
have me tripping over myself.
and i just want to be alone.
without you knocking on my skull...
that you'll be back in the morning
just to remind me of what i deserve
without ever telling me why.
i can't make sense of these riddles.
i'm tired of suggestive glances,
or reliving the taunting of childhood-
brass knuckles and shackles vs sticks and stones.
i hate to wish you misery...
but i want to see your sadness in the sky.
i want it to turn your pillow into cement
the moment your head is sleepy.
this makes me feel cruel....
leaves everything tasting bitter.
and forcing myself to hate something
i've always loved
has me hiding in the dark, stone caves of my chest
to keep from being seen or tempted.