i loathe myself
when i'm alone at night.
my breathing becomes heavier
and my chest becomes a screen.
the noises of nothing
becomes the noises of myself.
the voice in my head
yelling over and over again
to tell myself to stop thinking,
thinking of thinking
and thinking of blinking,
and breathing,
and turning to the left,
move your legs to the right-
i loathe myself
when i'm alone at night.
but i often think about if she were here.
how i'd might,
just might,
make it through a blissful night.
listening to her breathing,
knowing how her heart's beating,
our chests so close,
only clothing separates,
but our hearts,
our ways,
our kind and easy place,
giving off a sort of feeling
to where the voice in my head
isn't yelling over and over again,
but he's whispering.
humming softly of a song
he heard the other day
that reminded him of the hopes he has
to be older and wiser
with her by his side.
whistling a tune
only he would understand,
which stood for the love i have for the girl under my hand.
i don't know if this quite made sense,
but i know i often loathe myself at night.
especially when i'm alone.
but i know if she were here with me,
i wouldn't loathe myself anymore,
and my voices would be quiet.
they'd be happy.
and i wouldn't loathe myself anymore.
i wouldn't loathe myself.
she makes me sort of like myself.
i've never liked myself.
