I’m not a side dish, I’m not a left—over, you can’t put me away, you can’t save me for later, as with all things,

Whenever I’m alone, I stay smiling, Counting the stitches sewn, On 100 thread count sheets, Wishing for rain,

You collect calluses, Like precious gems, Revering their form, Keeping them close, And if it wasn’t for me,

The language of love flowed freely… Through the rivers of our veins, During the summer we discovered ma… And razors edges. We used the torn corners,

It feels much less like a kick in… but a slap in the face, I would say ‘fuck it’, but it wouldn’t adequately represe… that was lacked in,

I feel like I could vomit tears, But that wouldn’t suffice, For amount of years together, Exactly twice, I have no idea...

I can’t say I know, The bed where you lay, The shape, color, and patterns, That makes up your day, I can only say now,

Tried to meditate, too many different people, are inside my head.

Flying out of the nest, At sixty mph, Four hours—without rest.

Carefully and slowly, I unfold myself from inside, Dark and lowly, I swallow my pride, I let her out,

“You’re trapped.” He explains, My body is bare, I’m losing time, And losing air.

No implications, Did I notice at the time, Only the key strokes.