not poetry not prose

i sat there, still
the rain slid over the glass
leaving lava bubbles on my legs
the rain moved me
nauseous lost in an out of body
experiencing timeless sapphire night
lost to when

the last time i truly remember
being able to love who i was
more or less, before less was all i could accept
i felt nothing
which was what drove me to tears
as the taurus drove off, presumably i was driving
they were stingy tears
the kind that feel dry before they drop and leave
a burning bump in your cracked and aching throat

i felt nothing
i remembered nothing
a person here or there flashed through brainspace
a discussion
but the feeling was set in a capsule
which we buried; i was there
but i've lost the nerve
i've lost the energy
i'm not sure i have permission

the tears, dry.
and the nausea, wet
churning
of what came next
which i still feel
deeply psychoticly in limbs i tried to discard
i crafted scrambled love letters to death
like this one
full of simple cliches
to explain
that i think i'm important
just like you

and as each memory spitting
through a chugging wiry fan
slap plopped down my face legs chin hands
time caught my face in her grasp
in the eye telling me to get the fuck off it
with no apologies

still.
all i know is the numbness now
the buried things scare me
i hate to feel weak