apathetic / unapologetic / saddened / and i think half of my keys are sticky / i should have been more careful, shouldn’t i have /
i.
i feel as though
i am a dog
returning to its vomit
ii.
a breathless revelation
within darkness and cocoon of
insanity - i feel the knowledge
of my lukewarm temperatures in faith
and feel unable to turn up the heat, because
how to change the amount of energy
and friction when you don't have anything
to determine where you are now
(my fingers and my hands and my skin)
(feel unfeeling and exhaustingly so)
iii.
i feel trapped in a series of
fantasies; each a dark and twisted version of the reality
i'm struggling to avoid
iv.
i know that if i had the option, i'd have
a million missed calls and a thousand
unread texts; except, i have four unread emails and four drafts of responses
still unfinished, up to a week later
(i feel unapologetic, surprisingly)
(regardless of their increasing importance to me)
v.
i am a machine, working through the motions of
click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
publish and click click click scroll switch tabs type four words press send and
vi.
the music plays in my ears and a rumbling
beating monotony sounds in response,
deep within my ribcage and
it calls out from beyond, to send messages of
somewhat unapologetic apologies to the friends i haven't
spoken to in so long that i don't recall what their
words mean, anymore, and i'm not all that sure how to
read any remaining data of what i've kept from our
conversations of old so i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry for not
saying anything; i'm sorry that my way of saying
'i don't know what to say' is to not respond for such a long time
that you think i'm rotting away as a blistering corpse six feet beneath
the grass i fertilize and the flowers that feed off my remains
while you wait anxiously for a response from my
apathetic
unapologetic
saddened
self
and i think half of my keys are sticky
i should have been more careful, shouldn't i have
both with my keys and with your hearts
(i'm sorry and this time i really mean it)
vii.
i wish i had things to say; nice things to say and
just
things to say,
in general
(because)
(the)
(words)
(aren't)
(making)
(sense,)
(a n y m o r e)
viii.
i spell out words in careful
order and recall what i've said months and days ago
to the ghosts with your names and
to the people you claim to be
(it is wrong)
(to be jealous)
(of you, for knowing)
(who you are, so early in the game)
(when i am a bit ahead in physical)
(space, yet, cannot spell my name without)
(wondering who this person is)
ix.
i wish i knew if these were the right numbers
x.
i wish i cared if these were the right numbers
xi.
i wish i cared about something, today