Sitting on the tan couch:

Sighed "Regret," he said to me "oh, woe of thee and apathy"
and wept inside his eyes still closed "...a perfect ship that sank and rose.
A method we have left of us: a rhyme and text left souls untouched.
May sleep sweep me from life and breath. " At best we wept of second death.

Anyone have a problem?

Taking words

Lately, with sleep and awake being a blurred line, I've been taking up my time and changing my mind.

I have a certain species of discussion I cut into the mouth edges of my reasoning.

Internal dialogue and sequential thought.

She is being swept by my forgetfulness but I don't think I can remember.

whether or not

we are still linked

or pulled apart.

If there's a way to shoot down nicotine withdrawal and kick fleeting vision in the face.

till I can poke its teeth through its cheek and smile dumbly at its gain.

I'll chance the will of indecision and remain a rope in the bind.

You, a knot in my head.

My sore an open throat; voice dead from songs

I think well of this statement

  

I gather no one will hear me.

I think she'd rather leave.