I never seem to make it through the honeymoon stage.
Laying awake at night, ostrasized.
Wondering why I am so tired, yet so awake.
The probability of anyone interrupting this time is low.
It’s the only time I can be truly alone.
Contraryily, speaking to myself to break the monotony.
The definition of crazy, minus the action.
Crazy as if, I’m waiting there for help that I know will never come…
Your car, the only flea I’ve seen on this dog.
But my skin crawls when I pass others
Trying not to looking inside, hoping it’s you.
But the only feedback I get is, white noise…
The best piece of love advice I got, is from a stripper named Bunny.
She said John: “your problem is: you love, expecting people to love you the same way. And that’s just not realistic…”
The silence that exists between these awkward moments of clarity loudens.
And these days, tomorrow’s are the only days I look forward to.
Bukowski said you get so alone sometimes, it just makes sense.
I’d have to agree.