nights of the week

What? I don’t know.

I don’t even know what I like anymore. I used to have a very black and white sense about objects, people, feelings, but now, now it’s just completely bare. 

No shade, no blurred lines could even describe it. I’ve put too much into exploiting and exposing the art of others to even remember what my own aesthetic is. Is this what it feels like when Rogue sucks the power from you, and you are helpless? 

Yesterday I got asked, “So what do you want to do now that you’ve achieved what you wanted?”

I stammered, stuttered, and could not put brakes on the words rushingoutofmymouth….”I don’t know.”

Sunday

for our two-year anniversary this Saturday. 

Sunday

Cloudy with a chance of bubbles

I love you in the morning. 

Skipping over the rubble

Left from last night’s earthquakes. 

-

Sleepy eyes, droopy eyes, bedroom eyes

Pluck at my heartstrings. 

Standing on the edge of blue oceans

I see my tickled reflection.

-

I’ve got the best of both worlds

Dressing up in tuxedos and dresses

Just to sit on the fire escape

Dreaming about sand. 

-

Don’t know when we’ll be here again. 

Sunday. 

Do I see Myself

Here…forever? 

No, no I don’t. I haven’t even been to Paris, skipped along the cobblestones of Italy, nor touched the sands of Egypt. 

If these things don’t come soon, I fear I will simply go insane. Today, after looking at beautiful images of love between two artists, I had to wonder if I am really working for the life I live. The answer is, no. But I am constantly torn between needing my parents to know that I am okay, that my life will be stable after they depart this world. I used to be a gypsy’s apprentice in my heart. 

I am torn. Hello quarter-life crisis, you taste so new.