FLUSHED

can i tell you something?

there's days where i wished i'd never known you, but others where i want to be consumed by every vein that designs your body
i have to keep me to myself, because i feel like it's too sacred to spill myself over in just words
my thoughts stick close to my tongue, but never pours
but
then
i think about a world after me
the impressions i've left on the dirt as i walked
the salt of tears absorbed into pores of skin
who cares anyway? my brain loves this repetitive punishment
but i keep probing in my dreams


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reoccurring thoughts:
MOIST MORNING (i walked alone that day)
SULKED SOFT CHEEK (out of anxiety, i'd bite my cheeks until they bled)
HOW BLOOD VESSELS DILATE UNDER STRESS & EMBARRASSMENT UNDER THE SKIN