Loneliness cannot begin to describe this pent up nervousness.
No vent? Sucks, just swerve with this.
Ride along her words like a herd of heathens, heaving you higher and higher.
But you’re not flier or even flying.
You’re falling and hushed. The rush you experience is delirious times way too much.
Add that to fraction packed history and exponents of mystery and you got yourself an equation similar to an abrasion of the heart.
Like going to brain dead from smart or to worksheets from art.
The metaphorical oracle who lives in my head said I’d be better off dead than coming up with more words to forward in hopes to be read.
But she knows, she took it in. The prose that makes me never want to look at him.
I swore I’d never get shook again. It only took one look and then
I feel a vomit comet shooting through the skies of my insides.
Heart pounding, face flushed and then white. Similar to the cool toilet bowl that was saving my life.
All this from someone else’s bliss. I bet it would only take one kiss to get me to reminisce,
but words work just fine at unraveling my mind.
