shrink and blow up

i am a deeply unhappy person, pudge.

i want to suck all of the empathy out of my hands that hold you. but you get what you want. even when sad about how you won't and you don't and i bet you think i'm just some could-be, or sometimes-am, but's really just a joke. but you didn't say that. i don't want to face you, so i let my back take care of you and yours. what kind are you? what kind of happy, what kind of scared, what kind of hope did you make out of your clay that's mixed of this, that, cigarettes that had to be thrown out, and the bed frame you built for me to sleep in. but there's no bed, i'm in the frame, and i sink through. you're the frame, i'm the bed. i'm the springs, you're the mattress. i'm the empty square, you're the frame. i'm the empty squared.

i am inside out.

it has nothing to do with you. i do the things i'd never do, for you. those moons for eyes, i've seen them all over you. you're fast even if you try to keep slow, and i'm gone even when you're quick enough to reach. a bright light flashes, a temporary, a flicker, a blur. a glance- not long enough to be a stare, much longer than a blink. a sun, mistaken for gold. i want and i crave and i get and i grab, and you poke and you pull, and i give and i guard.

i'm afraid of what happens when the comma's i've put inbetween the months come to an end. i'm afraid of your hands, i'm afraid of what i'll say, and of your arms and your neck and your legs when they slither against each other, your knees facing mine, i'm afraid of your cheeks and your fingernails, i'm afraid of your fears, your lips, your shoulders, the sleeves of your shirts, every joint and each eyelash, afraid of the ribs that keep your insides within boundries, a spine i've traced, a hope i've set a pace for, a promise i've made a place for.

i am inside out.

who are any of you, anymore.
i can think the same thoughts about something that's nothing alike. and when i start to think what i could do to you has lost it's capacity or atleast it's availability, i sink right back into you and you give right back into me. for years.

a spiral, a drooping ribbon, an untied shoe, the balloon falling down instead of flying up, dropping your change in the gutter, a bracelet snaps and all the beads dribble off, the notches in your spine, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 all the way down, to the ground, ashes ashes we all fall _ _ _ _

i am inside out.