Feeling

It's strange
this feeling
so uneasy
throat choking
stomach kinked
thoughts ransacked- the scene of a robbery gone wrong.
I can't seem to control the content,
nor do I have the discipline to find the off switch.
I've got all this time that I could be doing something constructive
but all I seem to be doing is self destructing.
Why should I feel this way?
When I feel like I've finally found all that I was looking for my whole life,
why do I feel so scared?
Why do I feel like I will wake up one day
and find that she is gone?

Why?

It's strange,
I almost feel as if retracting,
shrinking,
going back,
becoming more selfish, and self interested-
getting back to the things that make me feel strong as a man-
will cure this feeling.
Even imagining it now,
almost takes away this longing, pain.
If I imagine seeing her less,
keeping my mouth shut,
withholding my emotion,
donning arrogance like a new hat,
then this anxiety seems to slip into submission.
Why?
When all I've ever wanted is closeness,
openness,
vulnerability
why?

Without a name

I'm not sure what to call this
Though, it feels an awful lot like anxiety.
My mind starts racing,
thoughts blurr by
feelings blend and shapeshift.
Control?
This feels like drowning- when your last conscious effort to reach air has escaped you,
or falling- when flailing and your sympathetic replace all thought,
or being smothered- after every muscle in your body is too fatigued to fight back.
There is no solution,
nothing I can do,
once the wheels start spinning.
Ever downhill,
spiraling
further and further
into imaginations mysery.

Doot doot doot

Music,
how do you do it?
I'm going along
doing just fine
almost on cruise
I haven't touched the dial
or noticed a DJ
my thoughts flow in and
out
mirroring your beat
the ebs and lulls
cast little effect
and then
a chord is struck
my throat chokes tight
vision waterlogged and
stained
not a shade of red or yellow
nothing so vibrant or bright

Book Keeper

I need you to know, now, that you've done a real number on me.
The evidence is died in ink-
my pages are frayed, and worn, and tattered for all to see.

It's not fair, you know, that a new page should have a stain.
Fresh, and clean, and ripe with possibility
shadowed and cluttered- tarnished.

Tearing pages would have helped-
if it had been done at first, and quickly.
To have ripped the tape from tender skin
may have avoided this scar.

The deepest, richest, most vibrant
Black.
Piercing, tender, nurturing
chocolate Brown.
Gentle, smooth, life-giving
Mocha.
... to say nothing of the unseen.

If only you could see through my eyes...
If only you could feel with my heart and hands and skin and soul...
Then you would begin to understand the way I feel about you.

Mis Compas

You're tall
and you used to wear some fuckin' ugly pants
yeah I look up to you,
not like I would an older brother
and
not in every way.
You're almost always right in your advice to me
but couldn't hear yourself
advise.
You do what's right
like I do
but for different reasons
no less your own
than mine are
I've learned.
You're looking
I can tell
and I am too
you're my better part
a gravity to stay close to the sun
though you wish it were The Son

You're short
I laugh
you laugh
you fall down
I cough
the craziest memories
intentions a null factor
never judging
nor expecting
never more than I am
never less
ever faithful
ever supportive
with this skeptical cynical bite
to every word
keeping me safe
keeping me
you're good inside
though you feign to admit it.

You're my blood
you've been there from the start
always my backbone
always my crutch
my strength
you're the air to smog ridden
Terra firma
if more were like you
the world would be much less shitty