chocolate chips and vodka

i’m starting to wonder why i’m writing so much and i believe it’s because i feel something coming, something contained, something good because it is also going, spooling, limitless for i have yet to touch and taint it with me, with these words that haven’t done much as of yet besides for make me come back here, write, write more, then post something and wonder why i did it when i come and go and when you do the same and together we might miss each other, so i write more and more to avoid missing you missing me and i look outside and see the clouds separated from one another and from the rain that can come like dancing and the city is a dehydrated crinkle that match my palms, aching with stories and people and ideas from ancients of futures left to be held and grasped, and so i do, more and more by writing more with beer and chocolate and i incorporate it into me as it incorporates me into it but i beat it out by writing more and more, digesting, spewing, solidifying excess into substance, form, shit if i need it by writing more later on, things that will be good and strong and keep me going for they go by themselves without the push and incontinence of pauses, errors, and periods that are supposed to be present, but never come for i need to write more

*

no one is going

to gawk and tell you

that you made it

and this is it

and you are there now

where you wanted

when you started

this whole thing

by trying to come into this,

all dressed and drinking green tea

and eating chocolate chips and vodka

and moving more than many

but still less than the others

who will say

no one they know

is there making it

quite like you

but mostly like them

*

my empathy

is taking a lot from me

so i hope you

understand

that i can’t

understand

how i am so

empathetic

and have so much to give