pendulum

my head swings heavy
normally i wouldn't notice it
but i can feel the weight of my brain
cracking against my cranium

i think in petroleum
this is a study in oil
time is a dictator
its cuckoos pull my eyelids closed

enter a curtain of sunlight
and the curtain call of a late night

i sleep like a gray comforter
i sleep like a carpeted floor
i sleep like a month ago
i sleep like eight thousand miles

12 hours ago

thing with me is,

i get attached quite easily

to the sound of grazed ice

the look of shed fur on my jeans

the warmth of the fog on windows

(caused by my breath, because i breathe)

the winding roads that looked so welcoming

turned into snakes

(and clocks, ticking away)

when deadlines came and so did airplanes

and i miss the cold

and the warm

and the roughness of carpet

the bite of sun

stealing space on the pillows

drawing pictures throwing our heads back laughing

the heels of my feet sore and spent

walking

walking with you

and closeness

finally, closeness

to something so unfamiliar

something eight years far from here

finally, you are not pixels

you are made of fingerprints and numbers

dimensions and planes

i should have written you down in maths

i had you for a month

(eleven days)

(two weeks)

thing with me is,

i never cry

but when i left

glassy eyes were my eyes

pulse floating away from me

finding its way back to you

(this is waking up from a dream

i look for anything to make sure

it was

all real)