Please Sleep In With Me

Please sleep in with me.
Be okay with doing nothing.
I made some phone calls
And was able to get in touch
With some construction workers.
I spent the last of this week's paycheck.
I hired them to mend the cracks
In between both of our eyelids
With concrete
So the light of day
Doesn't enter our brains
And make both of us
Conscious.
I will plug your ears,
Half-awake,
So the scraping sounds
the trowels make
Smoothing the lumps
In the patchwork
Don't interrupt your dreams.
When they're finished,
They will leave.
When they're finished,
I will wrap my arms around you,
And you will wrap your arms around me.
Locking our fingers together
Will form a straitjacket
I never want to be let out of.
Instead of taking a bath,
We can lick the dirt and oil
Out of each other's pores
With our tongues.
This is not a sexual advance,
Just a chance to grow into
One another.
Listening to the lullabies
Of our exhaling breaths.
Please sleep in with me.
Please smash your snooze button
With a fist made out of hammers.
Warm blankets are wonderful,
But bodies are better.
Less itchy.
Less alone.
I wish two giant hands,
The hands of a seamstress,
The hands of our mothers,
Would descend from the sky
With a needle and thread,
And hem the miles separating us
Transforming the geography
Of North America,
Just so we could be closer together.
So we could listen to the whistles
Of the wind against the bedroom windows.
Because this blurry computer screen
Can never give an accurate depiction
Of what you actually look like.
Or of the teddy bear that covers
Your face in bed.
Please sleep in with me
Because I can't think of anything else
I'd rather do today.

Waking Up At 2pm On A Sunday

You open your eyes, and immediately realize that it is a mistake.

You press your face into your pillow, which forms a general shape of the contours of your face, before balling your fist up and punching it out of existence.

Cover your ears, because the sounds you are hearing transform you into the perpetually unhappy person you actually are. See also worthless. See also fuck up. See the little man located in the center of the earth, making it spin and orbit. Tell him to slow down. Or to take a day off because he looks exhausted and gaunt. Or about how you want to watch the world stop so you can see everyone fall and hit the ground at the same exact moment. Ask him, the worst he can say is no.

"No."

Stand still, let your legs become sore, stiff, and cramped; you are not ready for today, and never will be. This is the reason why the words coming out of your mouth are tied together in a never ending sequence, stretching back to the point of origin, the day you were born. You assume you're pretty offensive after listening to the criticism of what the fuck is wrong with you. Like you wish you were mutated, green bubbles popping on the skin, so your physical appearance can reflect your inner-self already described.

Pull the covers over your head, close your eyes, and let the darkness under the covers absorb you.

Suffocate on carbon dioxide comfortably.

You don't feel like eating, so you pick the scabs off your back to pass the time, and let the wounds bleed.

Always hoping to bleed out, but never reaching the goal you set for yourself.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. No Mercy. Hanging from a drop ceiling. Fish hooks exposed through your bottom eyelids.

Sometimes I Wish We Were Eagles

I wish I could fall asleep in the notch between her arm and chest.

Instead, I pass out on the keyboard with her picture opened on my computer screen.