I have a bad habit of predicting reactions rather than listening to responses.

A quiet phone call

The kind that you'd miss in the night

Flashing light on your sleeping face

The slow walk to the office

Where you can lock the door and mute.

The cracking of my lips

And the beating of my heart

Where my voice fades into static

Like a mirage of dusk. 

I don't want to make you worry,

And I know I shouldn't place my thoughts

In your brain

Like transplanted organs

Attacking a host body

With woeful antigens. 

I know because I have

And I did

And I do

And I let the grinding of my lungs

Flood my senses like the back river in a storm

Where blood and dust mix in mud 

To form castles in my chest

I know I shouldn't ask for this

When I stay home at night

And shine my eyes like floodlights

My tears like a song

That dance in noonish Sunbeams

Colored like the lip balm

Where I stick my teeth like sap

My mouth finally shut

When I stay up and throw my rehearsal around, but

Its less about me

and more about how I ruin

Everything