2/6/13 (It’s goodnight, not goodbye)
These scientific studies are supposed to explain why I can’t sleep. To kill time I mindfully studied her geography until my brain stained these tangled sheets. The legend says 2 thousand miles every square inch. Why can’t she be a few inches from this room I call a niche. I often experimented with the width from my heart to my wrist. They said i was an outlier, but I sit 30 feet from a perforated door. I can walk out of my little world and get lost into yours. But I find myself staring at the ceiling burning from neglect. I’m throwing in the towel, for these psychological aches smother me. Rupturing arteries inside the spaces where a poor diet paved its way. Half empty with toxins draining through my pores. Wine on my breath, like a drunken captain leading a sinking vessel. Some say the traffic is hard to handle. I tried to steer but internal battles kept me from rising to the surface. I was drowning and these air bubbles reminded me of dead friends and distant relatives. Her touch is like a sedative straight through my spinal. Those frosted lips put out my cold sweats. My dream catcher caught her sonnet and Ive been replaying it ever since.