Sometimes when I'm painting or drawing a thought will come to me and I have to write it in my sketchbook. This is what came to my mind a few days ago:
I burned myself on the steam
She was saving for his bed.
There is no time to redeem
The empty thoughts in my head.
I find myself incapable of producing the empathy needed to have mercy on the ones who don't deserve it.
I'm incapable of forcing the apathy needed to say no to those I've fallen in love with.
What a chasm this ephemeral distance has wrought between us.
It's not just my fantasy.
It's become our reality.
Your eyes make love to me.
It's so much deeper than what body alone could achieve.