I'm expecting inspiration. but I feel smothered by it somehow. wanting it to jump start me, make me fly and cave and find myself on the other side. but I feel pinned down. simple and painful. I'm trying to see it through. perfect little inspiration. dripping in sweat. uncomfortable and denying itself pleasure. only to build up and explode its tension some day.. its like the way we want so badly to just fuck someone until they/me/us boil inside. because that old reliable fantasy you are inside your own head when you make yourself bleed. that fantasy is electric.
and me? I am electricity. sparks and frequencies running through my veins
my angry fist. Caught in the nicks of your tongue. Words on fire, Behind your teeth. Crooked smile and all pressing matters you inflate. Ego bursting at its seams. Every person you encounter, they’re all out to get you. Notches in bedposts, in belts. and you're calm and wishful. Hopeful.
But tiny pieces of your teeth break off in your words and they exit through your mouth onto the forearm of the girl who could be next to you. Who isn’t me. Who isn’t. me.
And as the cuffs come out you hold it in. a balloon in your chest heaving. Heaving. Breath heavy and wet. My spine it meets, greets. Says hello. Goodnight. Let me rest here for awhile until I can find time to evaporate into the atmosphere. Until I can make time to dissipate. Let me rest.
Waves of it, over and over again in me, on me, surrounding me. I’m tired. Too tired to think straight. but awake. So impossibly awake as the light comes down through the ceiling tiles. The people above saying be quiet. I can’t hear the tv.
And your angry fist in motion finds its target in me and stays home for the evening while I venture out into the dark dark night to try, Against your wishes. I try.
The nights and days are piling up rapidly around our ankles. Pools of time, of continuous motion make themselves known as we try to make our way from this bed. This moment. Into another. But we’re met not only with times opposition, but with our own sick desire to never move again.
I want to taste that thing inside you that makes you special. Makes you tick. I want to put my hand on it. Warm and soft. I want to squeeze. Until you’re the one breathing funny, and I’m the one smiling.

that concave
that concave moment
where dark becomes light. a simple shimmering light
pulled in silent direction
from front to back
and the whites of your eyes become vapor
a placid look upon myself
in every which direction
that I can't figure out
and I'm dense with every little piece of me
an emotion drawn
between two smiling faces
and a third
where the emptiness should reside
but has moved on, to another field
in some other town
and I'm simply, simple.
in the basic sense
where every powered and controlled movement you make
becomes another reason