the light glows differently on white strips on a dark road, tires seem to stain it more cruelly than mud does white clothe. and the thing is iwish i felt anything towards you, i wish i could let my heart be tainted by your light, too. but what doesnt exist cannot shine. ihavetogo

like blood gashes out of split flesh after a soft pause, you too return after a brief moment of respite, carrying the pain of a wound and beauty of blood. and good god, i let memories consume me over and over again. i always loved gauze more than bandaids.

.

[do i care if i survive this]

your silence has betrayed me. awfully.

alienated from ones own specie genus family. all alone. all the feelings that aren't allowed expression.

braimstippeffuctiominfsobsdly.

awaazen goonj rhi hain,, mukhtalif kasrat mukhtalif awaaz mukhtalif andaaz mein

[i ran and an absence bounded beside me]

swallowed form of things. remembrance. god with his unaccountable omniscience. physical sustenance (failure). julia roberts. that truck analogy. shame in every narrative. aikens poetry in whispers over coffee mugs. i have lost a lifetime of us.

i unwind the clock to remember you timelessly. and still, still time rips apart all these boundaries withholding my conscience, and i keep forgetting you as minutes spread over years taint my memory, mercilessly

anticipatory loss is always more painful because otherwise the certainty of loss can be sustained via an outlet for grief

confessionals. four yellow pills. invocation to armageddon. state of silent indecision. i think i saw your hands slipping away. atoning. oscillating between past and present. mine as always lay prostrate. waiting. always a little to late.

tear in my heart

we take something from everything

and then the dead keep dying in memory. and you catch urself wishing, all the living were dead too

elvis costello, houston, van morrison,,, fine young cannibals kinda evening.

jupiter. warmth. four zeros. mail. 118 kilometers. i wish i could walk this distance overnight. i miss u ):

empty

while union rests in cots of the sacred; exile is the forbidden fruit we long to taste