“Whatever It Is”

You broke my heart (And the windows on my car) What was all that for? Now you you've started a holy war I've got scars on my arms I might love them a little more I guess you are what you are After all—you're a star I'm bat shit crazy, I'm Blind, so blind and now I'm Hiding in a life I decided I was mine I tried to find you Tried to find the answer Tried to find the time, And now I'm fighting suicide against denial —I still really love your smile

I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were. Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer. I loved him.

The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be. Who are you, To evoke emotion A notation of focus, Awoke in the moment to know, Vote for a hope, Or a rope, just to— —hangglide. What's two hands, What's two fists look like to you? What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—? What's two lips, two blue eyes; In an instant What's to listen to the the tune of you again? “Please Text Back” What is this? Another emotion, Another world we opened, A parallel dimension, Just beside the hell we live in— Exists all of this I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to; The way you make me move, And what I feel for you— Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots And reel-to-real I feel so stupid— She'll—be everything I asked for him She is—the one I called for hoping She was—my dream inside a dream once; Now, digging my own grave up Just to prove my luck, or something So, to us, it's only justice, undone On the walk to Eden, It was all of us; I reap what I've sown; Nothing comes of nothing Give to get, And live to eat, The answer's “hungry”, If you're asking But no one's asking, ‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome, He had to have known that—‘ I sat at the alter, my ocean And read to her, poetry I wonder for nothing, And want even less, no discussions— Percussion in repercussions, Patterns of claps and hats, happen to manage the panic; Perhaps if I laughed a little, Or loved a little, I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me, From the bungalow windowsill; It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening And never listening And never listening —we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed; B