powerless

it's a compulsion
this ache to please you
to make you happy
to not make you unhappy.

a compulsion.

i can't stop it
even when it's wrong
even when it's stupid
even when it makes everything
so much worse.

this compulsion

keeps me up at night
whispers in my ear
all the stupid things i have said
or have not said
to make you happy
to not make you unhappy.

and you sleep beside me
blissfully ignorant
until tomorrow
when all my work
comes crashing down.

not done

if you spoke of one
and only one
and spoke of one and only one
with seven days between
until you spoke of all
you would fill the spaces
that spread from January
to June.

the space of half a year
to speak of one and only one
one at a time
the same way they came
the same way they left
one
after another
after another
and another
until all that was left was silence
and sadness
and cries of someone to help us.

genius

did you ever get so angry
at one person
that you almost went to sleep
in the other room
before realizing that
the person you are angry at
is yourself
because you are
yet again
a fucking idiot?






just me?

too long

that is how long it has been

since i last did this

stupid, trivial thing

that everyone says they admire

but no one pays attention to. 

too long.

that is how long i waited

for something beyond "oh, fuck"

to tell me to do something

that might actually mean 

anything more than 

i guess i have to.

even now i don't want to

even as i do it

see my actions etched in the absolute foreverness

that is keystrokes

and the internet.

even now i can't really say that i care.

but i have to say something.

because i don't want what i said last time

to be the last thing i said.