unspoken words remain unspoken

you are there.

i am here.

here is the middle
never visited.
(if you ask, "is this about me?" i will never admit to it.)


blood and puss suppurates
out of the lacerations
on my arms
even though they are already
scarred over.
it contains the toxins
created by
the pictures hanging on the walls
on the inside of my skull.
true love has never been fully realized.
the ideas are coated
with dust and mold;
cotton colored skin
has started to turn
gangrenous.

dead leaves
fixated in mud
and clothed in ice.
inactive.
paralyzed.
frozen.

the words sit in my mouth
like unused vomit
coming up from the stomach.
i swallow due to
nervousness.
shaky hands.
sweaty palms.
what's unspoken remains unspoken.

pull the zipper
sticking out from my forehead.
examine the synapses
and wrinkled contours of my brain.

when i asked you to leave
with me,
i was serious.

i would build
you
a house made out of
fuzzy blankets
and soft pillows,
different shapes, colors, patterns, and styles.
warm.
and insulated.

i would wrap you
in myself
if you ever started to shiver.
but i'm afraid of
squeezing you too tight;
closing your windpipe
unintentionally.

i know.
i know.
i know.
this is inappropriate.

you don't really need me;
i'm not a luxury.

i am as important as
a spat of used bubblegum
cemented to the concrete sidewalk.
bright pink
hardened
and
flecked with particles of dirt.

i apologize in advance
for getting stuck to your shoe.

i apologize in advance
for getting under your fingernails.

i'm sad.
i'm lonely.
i'm sorry.

that

you are here.

i am there.

and this is 

the middle

never visited.