I won't say that it's unbearable
because it's not un-
bearable.

But it begs to be
to be laid bare
like my own bed
lays
alone.

As I barely
lay my head
and ruffle sheets
before I realize
that sleep will not come soon
enough.

Given a moment before I pass
into dreams
I consume myself
with thoughts of you.

Thoughts of you that
make me feel that next year
will never come
soon
enough.

optimism strains in searching: something real
something almost more than this.
lyrical-ish verses-ish make me uncomfortable
in their inability to express what I feel
-ish
perhaps a signal for turning to prose -
only that too fails here. everything is failing here.
language is falling apart at its seems
as its stitches dissolve
and its insides fall out and begin to unravel themselves.
not uraveling themselves (which would indicate an agency)
but rather that they are themselves unraveling.
unmotivated entirely.

optimism strains in searching for
motivation for anything.

on the bright side

finding yourself between a rock and a hard place

means at least you found yourself.

rendering to scripts

a shift (from emotions)
lines blurrd:friends/loves:
love friends.

.limited typesetting possible.
enter: Unloved Lover
stage left.no.right
wrong(!)
but from the right
though she's a leftist

opposite (means never
[better])

clever though. clever.

Almost Sleeping

It's worse in the dark:
the fear of spending the night
asleep.

of spending hours without
thoughts of you.

I'll loop memories
as I pain myself to sleep.
Trying to see inside eyes.

Something besides the prospect
of falling asleep
and leaving thoughts to dreams of chance.

borrowed from Brecht

Today I met a girl I used to see who said (excitedly):

you haven't changed

a bit.

I said out loud that neither had she

and couldn't help but feel that I had

failed.