the onyx velvet dappled with diamonds above me, the orange of the dashboard lights, the calming sound of hardcore punk followed by japanese synth jazz, cyber punk and serene, methodically mythological missives floating in the air around my head

the smell of grease and salt, golden arches a blur as i speed by, the overloud accordian coming from the pickup at the red light overlaid on the thumping bass and misanthropic lines spit from my speakers

this is not another poem about missing you, it is not

not another ode to telling you i love you and wish you were mine, the one i go to when the world is breaking me down, breaking itself down, broken

not another one about being sad, of wanting more and more out of this life that promises nothing and gives just as much back

some people are able to hold their heads high, to go out and do things without being crushed by the thoughts of not fitting in, not being part of society, being apart from not a part of

being a part of not a apart from

my crooked smile and janky stare, my lack of understanding, unable to follow, to stay silent, to not argue, always the devils advocate because i don’t want to be part of the herd, misheard, misunderstood, miss her, not that

this is not another sloppily written scene of heart ache and anguish, of screaming because no one is here to listen, of begging for comfort, uncomfortable, cold on the couch

a series of sorrowful lines, a sensual serenade to myself, my selfies are pictures of loss, my mourning my only truth, and all a lie, all a carefully bent version of virginal virtue

all my pictures are panoramic visages of me trying to smile, to look less unhappy, to look less angry, to look less sad, every smile as false as an i love you, as fake as waking up and greeting the day, as fake as me taking a picture and smiling

this is not another ode to you, my almost, the one i think i am over and then i wake up from a dream where i was good enough and you and i were laughing at some inside joke

this is not another shitty poem about missing your lips

no this is just a random spillage from my mouth to my hands to this electronic hell, the things going through my mind as i drive too fast, hellbent on escaping my past and it is right behind me at all times

this is not another heartfelt prayer of you knocking on my door, putting your legs on my lap as we listen half heartedly to music and you sing to me your pain

this isn’t that at all

it is about being apart from the things i want to be a part of, being a part and being apart, of not kissing you, not missing you, not wishing you were here

none of that

not at all

but if you read this

if it resonates

if you love me too

never mind

it isn’t about that, me wishing i was a part of your life, being alive, being more than the man in the moon staring down through a telescope and wandering out to find you

it isn’t that, no