it will be ten days until i see you
on the 29th of may ten days after the 19th, only three days time until there's twenty more days to go
get rid of written words
i'm kicking each day out of it's cocooning mess
sick of tuesdays
chewing down on knotted shoulders knitted tightly to over-felt associations and lost once loved memory things that all too often trigger big, bad, angry, exquisite emotions to knock my toothbrush against my teeth and bite chunks out of my own cheeks to feed no one but myself
i've written five pages tonight
maybe i should stop
watching clocks
i'm not myself
i've lost what cost me my sanity
any clarity isn't here
i'm always waiting
eating the 19th
up until one memory today
is lying in a question of worship
does it come naturally to over-
feelers feeling out their own
existence to the point of non-
existence filling up by picking
out and pacing through erasing
points and finally filing every
point and line away
awaiting night and dawn
and day and dusk exist
as one occur as one be gone
and done
and multiplied by nine
not points on lines that all at once have not yet happened and seem to never be able to happen
each moment is secretly twice of the other and waiting is taking so much longer than any other activity
and i'm doing it always
patiently running
patiently crying
patiently just making it and making up bus rides
dreams run in your consciousness
fake discussions
taking chances
i'll leave you to your lies
continue analysing signs
having a crisis
(i'm doing it always)
i'm crumbling at the seams
just keep melting into your surroundings
