oh fuck did i dream about him; delibidinized.
it felt real / the collapsing of my raw now vitrified rattered heart and the thumping of it against my already chafed chest / sore from where my fingers can touch it / felt real to the burning epilepsy of deams and reality and what i wished was just a manifestation of curios philosophies / of pointing out to where excatly the astral plane starts and ends or if it really does end / of how his momentarily heard voice would feel / i scream i dont love him / partly convincing myself partly convincing him / my eyes would tell my eyes would bleed out the words if you were to look into them and ask even for jest [but you had the chance and didnt you want him back or was it the guilt choking you again] they'd spit acid "NO" / so why does this entire untouched anatomy which has clearly no transcription / this anatomy of emotions came crashing down and my volatile spine / his volatile tongue / broke into seven parts seven emotions of fear / regret / reverie / strange rememberance of an unsure crush / perhaps love or love illuminated by guilt / perhaps hate; hate towards myself and of letting him go / of pushing him away but the seventh one is a plethora of tidal waves swallowing me in / both pushing and pulling him and me / condemnation to just ignore and forget and run and hide 123 123 123 i dont want to be found / maybe a closure was expected / maybe he got his after that last text sent in the mindset of obnoxious haze and sensitivity of already broken arteries that surround the entire fucking structure of my heart a sanctuary perhaps created within to hang on to the uncertainty of hedonism and i believed i wont ever fucking know why?
maybe i know it now and i know it well / he was a far distant memory / a memory triggered like when you watch the swimming pools in december when its too cold so youre reminded of when one time in mid july you belly flopped into the same pool but there are only fleeting retrospects of how the blue water transmogrified into emeralds shined bright orange and yellows maybe reds too when the sun shamelessly tried to swallow it / a distant memory which when triggered, i dream of him
so i wake myself up and forget him
im not killing him / not killing myself / not burning the memories / they're painted like the primavera in my head profoundly depicting the finite details / i know now i loved him momentarily that i cannot envision a forever with him / i dont regret him perhaps wished he stayed a little longer perhaps wished i ran away earlier
i wished him goodbye right before i slept the last time after i dreamt of him...and i havent dreamt of him yet.
