My skin so thin and traveling has been hard to endure no matter how local it could be the neighbor and dare i dial your number and be confronted by you and me.
My mind unreal looks for finality in rituals which have no end. Shopping the last pear half or double dozen of egg. Wishing i may never bleach the bathroom again.
All work to go away with every single necessary interaction. The ceasing of small pleasures even, only to take more sleep.
Only to dream nightmares more real than conscious reverie and only to wanna end to those, too, and only to wake to more dishes and emotions to contend…
and the very great pressure of you waiting for me to prove myself real.