Straddling the line

So blurry for something that is supposed to be concrete.

A shadow of itself, the former glory of its’ members.

The smiling faces to worried lines.

What trust they have.

The allure of it’s light and start.

I still don’t think I’m ready.

I love the breeze on my neck far more than sharing warmth in the sheets.

What do you want he asks? More then I wish to hear.

More and more he asks and the bitter I become but silence is all I give.

Maybe this is how people snap one way or the other you break but which way?

I long for dreams more than witnessing the passing of the moon.

I want to hear the whistle of the train in the distance more then my concern of breathing of another.

He’s not the one.

This can’t be he.

I’m already tired of his constant morning text in the brisk of morning.

I don’t want to hear my phone, nor voices, nor breathing, nor walls sighing in the brick of morning.

I’m a bat on the ceiling if you let me.

But interrupt my sleep and a bat out of hell you get.

This child like manner to have to tell your partner such obvious things like “piss off I’m sleeping or trying” is like asking fish does it need water.

If it’s jumping for air that’s a sign. If not, that’s a sign too.

A battle in myself weather this is worth it and I become rusty.

My shoulders begin to ache, my neck pops and my heart heavy.

I miss my being, but I’m testy with others.

Swamping spit, holding hands and arguing because one person isn’t listening.

After the argument one conceeds only because he rather be right in silent then wrong publicly.

Is this truly worth it?

…..Maybe with another.

Perhaps.

Or maybe it’s just more fun looking through the window of dresses and suits and pictures, and taglines.

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