November 23, 2015

Misplaced Potential

My insomnia-ridden heart grows heavy with the burden
of one letter and two numbers.
It thrives off of the nights I step into my car that's cold enough to stiffen my bones,
but warm enough to pump blood through my organs. 
Some nights I wish my organs would simply shut down
because there are emotions my brain and heart can not both fathom simultaneously.
Paranoia seeps through my neurons as I begin to believe
that I am destined to be alone forever.
Leather sofas beckon me twenty miles away
and I cannot answer because of the burden in between.
An absence of emotions that hollow those twenty miles
to nothing more than concrete.
with a hint of catharsis.
Each night I find those god-damn beautiful stars
regardless of how cloudy the evening appears.
Doubtful of the significance that we are underneath the same set of stars
because every person on the planet is underneath the same set of stars.

Pillow cases stained with the scent on Pomade;
not mine because you were never here.
Oblivious to the potential that we once shared,
although I've begun to believe that the potential was misplaced.
To think a close mind could comprehend such emotions
and it has taken me fourteen months to see.
Eventually I'd placed the blame on the doors left open,
whether to help or hinder.
Never placing the blame on my own insomnia-driven heart,
starving for a fruit it cannot taste.
This heart was made of rotting wood, 
held together with diseased nails.
I have placed every memory inside, where they now reside;
decrepit and longing for the end of sleep-less nights.
Although those stiff bones always made it home,
they've realized where their true home is.
Lying in an empty bed has become a hollow ritual,
but my insomnia-ridden heart is temporarily elated.

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