over populated in solitude

in the quietest of moments
lost in the singularities
the heavy population of my

is a weight
unto itself

it feels like
another one about
but the metaphor feels
too apt
to apropos
not clothos
or lachesis
enough for my

feels like
another one about
the scent of wildflowers
lost and lonely

feels like
the end of a six pack
when the thirst
has you gripped tight
but the only thing
in the cabinets
is vanilla extract
or mouthwash

feels like
i am whispering my love
to the moon
and it stares
blankly back
reflecting the sun’s
on my every
emotional outburst
in silent tones
just my off key
heart beating
me slowly to death

for so much
it is awfully
goddamned loud
in my head

in solitude
dripping with sin
with a
come hither stare
and fuck you grin
an amalgamation
of everything
you wish i could be

2 thoughts on “over populated in solitude

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