when the buddy system fails

those little looks. that sideways flicker of your eyes. the tiny smirk that’s always dancing on your lips, taunting me. the conversations that never cease. the way my heart flutters when I open the door and see that you’re still here. the easy fall into kisses. set my bones on fire. the breath in my ears while drifting into dreams. waking up in the middle of the night and finding myself tangled up in covers, and you. the hair in your face in the morning. the sleepy gaze. that tired smile. the early intertwining of fingers. the non-butterflies; just a perfect, delusional infatuation.

seguir hablando; no hay nada en ti que yo no quiero saber. 

pal·pa·ble
[pal-puh-buhl]
–adjective

1. readily or plainly seen, heard, perceived, etc.; obvious; evident: a palpable lie; palpable absurdity.
2. capable of being touched or felt; tangible.

tan·ta·liz·ing
[tan-tl-ahy-zing]
-adjective

having or exhibiting something that provokes or arouses expectation, interest, or desire, esp. that which remains unobtainable or beyond one’s reach: a tantalizing taste of success.

lu·mi·nous
[loo-muh-nuhs]
-adjective

1. radiating or reflecting light; shining; bright.
2. lighted up or illuminated; well-lighted: the luminous ballroom.
3. brilliant intellectually; enlightened or enlightening, as a writer or a writer’s works: a luminous concept; luminous prose.

de·lir·i·ous
[dih-leer-ee-uhs]
–adjective

1. Pathology. affected with or characteristic of delirium.
2. wild with excitement, enthusiasm, etc.: She was delirious with joy at the news.

Little bird, little bird, little bird, what d’ya hear?
The clink of morning cheers
Orange juice, concentrate
Crossword puzzles start to grate
One across
Four letter word it’s just not sitting

Little bird, little bird, little bird, what do you see?
A picture perfect scene
Two tone lawns are manicured
The garden’s wearing haute couture
It’s trying to hard

Little bird, little bird, little bird, where are they now?
Daytime TV. lounge
A carriage clock, a mantelpiece
A family wiped up j-cloth cleaned
Unsaid, festers
In the throws of the sofa

Little bird, little bird, little bird, how are you feeling?
Like help in quarantine
Pearly white touch down smile
Absent creases round the eyes
Tell tale, hard sell, we smell rats in the kitchen

Little bird, little bird, little bird what can we do?
Think tank, think rescue
Simon says, Etch-a-Sketch
Some encoded message only he would get
Quickly now
‘Cause this is not how it ends!

Little bird, little bird, little bird
Well I’ve got one more question
And I swear I’ll let it rest

Little bird, little bird, little bird
Where have you gone?

grilled cheese, cookies and milk, blood+ on netflix.

not too shabby. there are a few things and/or people that would make this a lot more bearable though.

as much as I don’t like thanksgiving, I’ll never spend it alone again.

you can barely walk,
barely think,
barely eat.

shuffle your feet a little louder,
clutch your trinkets a little harder,
wait for a knock just a little longer.

come home to an empty mailbox,
an empty house,
a silence that rings louder than the city.

lock every door and bar the windows.
though you’re praying for an intruder;
for someone to stop the clock.

you’ve walked into a game that you will never win.
douse your doubts with gasoline,
light the match and let yourself burn.

watch the lights go up,
one by one.
watch your lights go off.
one by one.
bulbs breaking.
trees falling.
windows breaking.
pages ripping.

you’ll play.
you’ll lose.
you’ll play again.

and again.

you’ve locked and chained yourself to the bottom of the ocean,
slowly running out of air.
but you have the key in your fingers,
why won’t you use it?