“you’re killing me here, [insert name].”
“well, you’re killing me too.”
somebody has a big mouth.
i wish i had imagined this,
but i couldn’t have.
it was too honest to be real.
even though you meant it in frustration,
i meant it with frustrating adoration.
it was bigger and simpler, a moment
of camaraderie among the consuming masses,
another game of you demanding perfection,
and i’m tired this time – i want to
lay down my guns and take a rest,
but your nights are short and weary –
keep your guns up to save you from the wreck.
i can’t be so much and so little.
you cast, you reel, you catch, and
then you let me go into hiding again.
so do you want the fish or not?
sometimes i think we’re just not prepared.
i may very well be that person that
can only offer love once in a lifetime,
maybe i’m too young to understand,
or what if i do and it’s terrifying?
you could call me in seven years,
or ten if you’d prefer, i don’t
know if i can measure time the
way i’m told or living in spite of it.
it is the utter quiet that i love as always,
the heavy weight among the silences,
if the world was burning alive and
everything was falling to pieces,
i’d want you to meet my eyes,
and hold them for an eternity
the truth becomes unspoken but known,
maybe you’d walk away, maybe not,
either way, the chaos would resume,
either way, here or later, yes or no,
you are killing me.