I am exhausted
from staying up
each night trying
to drown out the
voices in my head
that give me every
reason not to.
My universe is
infinite and spreads
in every direction,
as yours, too, sprawls
outwards from your body,
and no matter how far we
drift, I can find at my
edges a sliver of space
where we overlap, and
still more that does not.
I could have dreamt of leaving,
leaning my head on your shoulder
black that swallows.
Creeping it's way closer
until our toes
and then our knees
and then our fingers,
became part of its soft emptiness.
Whatever is occupying my mind
is scratching it's way out from inside of my head
and I can feel it between my folds and
hurling itself against my frontal lobe
and the cold isn't helping but the time is,
because I can feel the gaps in my thoughts now
and the spaces, perhaps, are greater somehow.
And I can't turn-off the run-on, but I can summon
the courage to suppress the urges to binge and purge;
I'll just indulge childish temptations and resist the satisfying
sensations of release until the sheets of snow blanket
the hills and all I can see, for miles, is white.