i'd tread waves that cried fatalities addressed directly to me
and all the sickness of the city
and swallow whole all the worst and wasted parts of my tongue
even if i couldn't speak anymore
i'd place a finger on your window each night
and slip in to take the place of your phantom guests
and your sheets and walls
that hold you close so often when you don't want to be held
at least not by me
so your window is closed
and will be for weeks
i won't bother you anymore with responsibilities
because to me it is silly
that i break my back
just to be met with a blow to the chest
and once more to the mind
perhaps it's time i cleansed my sight of all the mud
so i've more than a wormhole perspective to peer through
that only ever show you and i
and only ever rejoicing in all things around us
perhaps it's time i felt what it is to be sad
for the sake of myself
only me