frustration fills the void where the desire to fuck normally lives

a bit crass

i’ll dial it back

i’m generally gentle with the words i use to guide you around the manic moments that dip to the downside while describing boxcars hanging from cliffs that don’t exist with passengers scurrying about creating the illusion that this is all real

that i care

you visit

i’m in my underwear, scratching and moving about in slouched motions, languid and limp

uncaring

hoping you’ll take what you see back to my family, one less limb to hang ourselves on, and wishes were something i gave up long ago when you could have just stuck with your first lie

the truth became your second

the one that destroyed any hopes of reconciliation before you left

i was right

it was agreed upon that night we criss-crossed our fingers and promised to push pass desires that drench other dinner going deadbeat dickheads

i warned you against my best

i held my own

i became

something greater than that empty vacuum with a cord too short to reach her room

leave it alone

the mess you helped create when your selfish intentions were strewn across a melting floor with trap doors all labeled ‘what for?’

and i couldn’t answer

see you on the other side

where the frustrations don’t apply

and i’m free to fuck

without a void

nothing to avoid

filling and refueling

whole being sensation

connect

pushing and pulling

gentle now, i forgot, i’ll whisper softly

‘let’s stay locked’