Decrying Gravity

I don't want to talk about it anymore, talk anymore. I have always wanted to talk before, always talked for talking is all the only I could do. But now I can't even talk, can't even say, can't ar-ti-cu-late the questions. Because there are no questions. There have always been questions with no answers. Now there are answered questions, and I have no reason to ask anymore. I have always searched for the answers, always struggled because if I reach harderfasterstronger I believed I could touch you for as long as I needed.

But my arms aren't long enough. And you are too far away. As a matter of physics, as a matter of natural law we, I, you cannot be what who we want need. The answer is not in that ether waiting to be snatched like a lethargic firefly in the dusk on a breezy summer evening with you wrapped in me and smiles and eyes and everything in us. No. The answer is that the arm cannot stretch so far. Or the firefly explodes and your bloody stump yearns for when you didn't reach so far. No. The answer is not in the words. And whatever you say feel is so far from what I'm not.

I want to drift unmoored, to be cut

from the cord that ties me to this.

I want to dissipate and be that emptiness.

Because there are no more words.

There are only

more and more and more

So much the more that
I

can never be.