86. Terminal B

Absolutely
Bored
Considering
Details.
Everything
Fails
Grievously.
Handling
Insipid
Judgement
Kindly.
Loving
Madly.
Negating
Opinionated
Promises.
Questioning
Ravenous
Sincerity.
Touching
Wildly.
Xenophillicly
Yammering
Zealously.

Topics as of late are concentrated solely on love, or the lack there of.
Is it because I want it that way? Am I too picky? Is no one paying attention? Am I that unlovable?
You don't have to tell me.
It's one degree of extreme, or the other.
I'm in my room from 5 pm on,
or out with people until three am.
There's no significant changes occurring inside of me.
I simply float.
I don't feel as hyper talented or likable as everyone seems to think I am.
I don't feel anything but empty.
You must be such a fool to pass me by.

85. Procession

The destruction has only begun.
Moments in ruins,
movements of solution.
Subjective and suggestive.
Predictable and quantifiable.
"I count disasters on my free hands now"
With no end in sight,
still "searching for the light."
Your reflection is only what you make it out to be.
Destructive.
Objectified.
Disgusting.
"It seems like I've been here before."
Stalking houses,
talking is far too crowded.
Locked in,
shut down.
Safe in the shell.