Dog bones

Part of me wonders
Whether he's just a man bored
Throwing bones at random
And me
Hungry for him by instinct
Ready to swallow
Any crump that comes my way

Found with no confusion

Found
At the beginning and end of my thoughts
The middle ground taken too.

No confusion as to
Where I end
And you begin.

Two entirely separate existences
We are well-defined
We never meet.

Superstitious

And I think
I have after all grown superstitious
of words. I have
turned them into magic spells
that fix the untold into the present
bringing it into clear painful focus.

And I trod so carefully
and was so prepared
and yet I was left balancing on the edge
hanging
but not falling. 

Stuck

I am at crossroads
my feet buried deep in mud.
I'm aiming with a crossbow
Always at the head, never at the heart.

And when I try
to shake it off,
it's always my hand
closing down my throat.

To worry

Worry is like a blanket that
You want to wrap around others
And end up holding in your hands

Hunger

I look for you

With hunger

In smoke-overflowing bars

In empty cold sheets

In fleshy crevices

Of strangers turned lovers

Turned friends

Turned lovers 

Turned strangers

And I have forgotten what

You look like

Sound like

Except I have not

Let go of the essence of you

Pressed up

Against me

(image source unknown)

Exhaustion moves my limbs
and fatigue pushes me further.
Sometimes
I wonder
what it is I am truly
running after.
And

    if

it is,
if
    it

       exists,

then why
am I only
shuffling towards it

running away

scared
of

what.