i must’ve gotten used to the silence.
i must’ve gotten used to the fear.
how fast can i switch back and forth?
i don’t know—
how ‘bout we try—
maybe so—
i don’t know why—
wait, don’t go—
it’s damn terrify—
huh?
it’s damn terrifying.
You’re nothing but stills.
glass. empty. picture. perfect.
nonexistent.
Where is she? Where?
under the bed? in your hair?
Go decorate your walls with her.
figures. images. sculptures. windmills.
impossible.
You’ve got nothing.
Nothing vibing in your lungs.
Forever with you is what I ask for.
Forever with you is what I don’t get.
Is it bad that I have a an affinity for sad endings?
Epilogues that whisper the what-could’ve-beens?
Am I sad because I keep on looking for the bad?
Looking for the bitter? The sour? Anything but the sweet?
Well, aren’t you a calm disaster.
I am a butter nut squash ball trying to live life as a potato, but it’s not working out so well that I end up getting smooshed like a pancake. A wishful potato pancake.
A potato pancake with green onions. maybe chives too. Onions because it takes tears to build you at times.
But don’t worry!
Your butter nut squash-ness is still sweet and fills you up like the warm soup you need on ridiculously chilly days.
Carmel 