If you think this about you it is

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I’m writing this so you know I didn’t forget

about those nights we spent and the hours

We talked and roamed

Driving those old haunts

A sliding scale jaunt

I have notebooks scrawled with hieroglyphics

Doctors handwriting and declaration style script

Aging like a fine wine

Waiting to get discovered

Like some archaeological find

A thick musty manuscript

A tome of alchemical drawings

Atlas shrugged and we fell off the horizon

A tumult we ended the cult and jaded we sent the tall order of calling each other through the gesture based rectangles we carry

It was on my mind this separation and as I went about my day, doing the regular tasks of self maintenance I felt as though I was mirrored in my isolation by the knowledge we were most likely both doing something similar

If it’s all the same I’ll leave all these open ledgers

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The aura of the season

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The smell of nylon reminds me why things are fleeting and I’m trying to discern the reason I hate the smell of burning leaves as the natural disaster separates itself from our bubble syndrome society…you’re not looking at me, looking at me as I’m trying so hard to stay, to keep away the dark. Your scent feels like home and it’s ironic because home isn’t a destination and neither are you but you’re here now and it’s so hard to flee from this feeling of imminent results from juvenile insults.. deeply rooted in your deepest insecurities and deflective inflected conjecture, weekend rumours December. This mall and all its halls make me feel small yet they’re so much smaller than I ever was in their emptiness and void filling superficial incredulity seeps like a sieve dripping image based sadness through the unenlightened blinds worn to keep out the visions letting us know we are separating ourselves from what is real and substituting an existence reliant on subsisting on minute minutes and dry anecdotal quippets.. our meaning is here without our insistence it’s just this snow is so distracting and we are both overreacting to this dream we thought we had, a midnight movie money grab, secluded in the back row, feet up and our own sanctuary. It’s a artists ideal and a starry nighted all nighter bringing days made brighter by illuminated reflections and the apprehension of our questions. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, hear me and I’ll be there to reflect and bask in this glow of the sun felt through space like celestial heavenly bodies and vibrate like instruments to the tune of a universe so richly steeped in beauty more so even than the rough things we may see or feel in stark light, bringing mercy where there is idle hands and revealing the truth was still one to fill you with a sense of spine tingling overwhelming synesthesia and love, one where whether the light was direct or not we see it as magic and a universe of ourselves

Keyholders and hearts desire

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It lingers

Like the lipstick kiss on the wine glass rim

Not quite the tattoo ink underneath your skin

Almost as deep as I’ve seen

Where I know this memory gleams

Shake me awake

Its okay to bother me

I’m aching for an answer to my migraine nightmare

You’ll pull the trigger softly I’m sure

It’s okay I’ll become immune to the bullets

They’re made of quickdraw answers

Let’s dance again like the moon does with the ocean

Hearts are lie detectors

I don’t blink as I watch your face

Imaginary dreamlike fantasies

Take a breath let’s relapse together

Not the kind of thing you do every day

Let’s move and vibrate let’s make this excuse more true

Blame me for this easy hard answer

I’m making this disaster seem so serene

A makeup movie scene

Where the hero is off screen

Lights on roadside havens

A feeling of speed

Flying like those bullets

Bang

My own reasons

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I think I stay up all night

Because I feel like if I don’t go to bed

I’ll never lose the day

Even as it fades to black

And the sun rises in the east

Maybe there are some things you can only explain through song

I don’t understand the appeal of becoming drunk anymore

The empty space has been abandoned by all but this last guard

The good soldier

Maintaining, changing light bulbs and removing waste