mi corazon quebrado

i wake alone
and pretend that i am finally home.

the room is littered
with her books and notebooks
i imagine what they say, like,
"shoo fly don't bother me."
i can hardly get myself out of the bed
for fear of never lying in this bed again.

oh christ, i'm not that desperate.
oh no, oh god. i am.

how'd i end up here to begin with?
i don't know.
why do i start what i can't finish?
oh please don't barrage me
with the questions
to all those lovely answers.
my ego's like my stomach,
it keeps shitting what i feed it.

or maybe i don't want to finish anything anymore...



recluse