isn'tthatnice

But afterwards like swallowing knives I fold them back inside. 

I’ve ripped my eyes from the sky and the dead planets

I’ve grown a mollusk’s shell of indecision, 

a confused snail with no spiraling depths to unwind 

In my spare time I fold, paper clothes words feelings. 

I eat yogurt and smile. 

I have never wanted a future, 

I recognize the sense in this when he sleepily mumbles “I fight myself over it, but I still love you.”

“I guess that makes me the loser.”

And the hollow in my chest echoes bittersweet.

I’ve never fought myself over him, loving him is easy,

the words they are attached to pie. You sensitive little sunflower. massive mindcrumpet.

all those dark tea days. other then becoming evil,Someone to blame. I still don’t want to go to sleep.

Everyone here knows that deep.

I love that old one and I haven’t seen her once.

I’m done. I’m just being nice

the words have gone and they are beautiful for it.

still don’t want to and it was not a trap.