I sit with a coldness
Laying upon my fingertips
A gentle kiss
As an entering wish.

I’ve always made sense
Of the in between
Never fully one thing,
I’ve always related to that idea.

The world is running on caffeine wheels,
My adolescence burning from LCD feels.
And the neon glow of love’s gorgeous undertow
Is beautiful in the dark—but with a deadly blow.

I never made sense of my time with love’s complacency.
My life was overflowing from an abundance of transparency,
So I found it best to keep running,
And made friends with the desert visage and the deserted cities that alluded to an incomplete mirage.

And what an homage it was to see your face.
A distant longing,
One I was always unable to place my finger upon,
Even with my finger upon your skin,
Your body moving and shape-shifting to be a free entity again.

I never crossed a boundary, there were none in accordance,
But I realize the mistakes of our previous encounters.
How I always admired the art in the sky,
Searching for newness but creating decay in lies.
And similar to the art we grew up surrounded by—
Bored but respectful of the dutiful time—
I never took the time to admire the intricacies in how you lie.
The Earth as your head support, the stars always your comforter.

I had no place in space with her.

I’ve been sleeping less and I call it “indifference”.
I bet you’re stealing sleep and flying toward the coldness.
Someone so warm needs an opposite to calm—
Not a rampant fire to have unleashed upon them.

In the cosmic misunderstandings,
I sit with a coldness
Laying upon my fingertips
A gentle prick
As a lingering reminder.

You’re a glass building,
Eyes aglow in the dusk.
Contrasted from the skyline,
Your beauty stands erect.

In this fragmented foreground
Of emotional illusion,
I stumble upon a reflection.
One I no longer recognize,
But is reminiscent of your eyes.