the 11:37

I’m kind of sick and kind of sad

But if I’m honest

Neither one really fits

‘Cause only a few have hearts good enough

For life to take an ice cream scooper

And dig the carton of their soul hollow

If anything, I’m empty

Running on shots of tentative satisfaction

That I can swallow but can’t stomach

I know it’ll come back up too soon

It’s a drink my body won’t handle

The objective is get wasted

On you

And the kindness of your heart

And the way it feels to be deaf underwater

Because I’m so tired of watching my ceiling at night

Making constellations out of the popcorn texture

As I relearn what loneliness feels like

I miss you like you’ll never know

I said I was sick but I never said I lied

My body never held me back

My brain said I wasn’t worth it

Sometimes I feel that something snapped

There’s a break somewhere, a disconnect

And for a second, I thought I’d fixed it

Can a broken heart still beat and pump

While the conscience says it shouldn’t?

Can a heart be broken at all?

This is only making as much sense

As my train of thought at 11:37

There’s no reason for this ‘poem’

Other than this being my only alternative to screaming

Until my lungs are shot

And asthma is the least of my worries

But I’m stuck on whether I should tell you

About how your eyes are comfortably boring

Because they’re too dark for my own failing vision

To register what you’re thinking

They do not pry

And I can’t tell where they wander

But they’re secure

Like the feeling I received

When I could lean against your side

Enough to feel supported

And ward off my brain for a few hours more

I love you

But not the way I think I do

Because you can see the contents of my liquefied brain in a blender

And I can’t make out the ingredients, either

I cannot say you made me whole

But I’m void of something without you

When 11:47 comes to pass

My head will be still

My soul will be hollow once again

My heart will still trot around the concept of you

And I’ll be staring at my ceiling

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