shirtless before the terminal,
naked before the world,
and feel only warmth.
when a hand is absentmindedly pressed to a sinking face it is a rush of ice against poetry.
and as always the hand belongs to me, but doesn't feel attached.
slowly think over the past few weeks, for nothing is rushed tonight.
nothing is touched.
the events should make me want to cry
to tear at these veins, finally becoming visible through receding flesh.
i almost want to,
but all i can manage is to be.
to sit and feel my skin crawl
hairs ebbing and waving.
i hate what's going on right now.
but my heart is peaceful, still.
i am the calm little center of the world for just this moment.
i can let it all fade away tonight.
because i have good conversation,
a good feeling,
isis' beauty to soothe me with its violence
a half smile creeping along the lines of my face
can't explain it.
i should be lost, full of confusion.
and i am, somewhere inside here.
but not here
and so i'll leave it at that for tonight.
because this needs to never change.