am i making sense?

i don’t want to feel like i’m feeling too much
filling you with the fear that is truly mine
deflecting my possessions onto your body
your being so much more level than i

the weight of tears that desire gravity’s pull
onto the clean canvas of my face

and for what?

i ask you if i make sense because i realize nonsensical drifts some things apart

"he’s a nice guy" i say to friends,
the whole time not trusting self enuf to say out loud
i am SCARED
of repeating my own ruthless history
digging a grave as i smile the day away
sunshiney and all, never letting on
I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I AM DOING

wanting what i fear i may never have
may never get

"fatalistic" he asks

i answer: the end is near

so now i admit to myself, i am scared of feeling the lump of feeling in my throat as i wonder what he’s thinking of right now
of our not-so-quiet moments
moaning dew
his brown skin to mine glistening in night light

i am afraid of becoming too known
so much so that i have told you all my quirks
and -isms
all my murky corners - the truths i keep to myself
let you in too soon and… deep

now you know you know you can go
keep flying high
you know more - you are smart - you have gathered information for your journey

i do not know why i am here
i do not know your purpose

i have a vivid unforgiving imagination
and i know only that the moment has come where i feel i’ve been ousted from cloudland
and am now falling fast

and the whole time i’m falling i’m thinking to myself - damn! i could have avoided this. i could have done something differently. i could have grown since last time. i could have made it last longer if i had just shut my mouth. stopped my heart. closed instead of opened. just gone to sleep.

but now what is done is done. and i feel i await judgment
but i am guilty (though i know not of what) and already know (though i have no idea)
my fate

the answer is no:
i am not making sense. nonsense,
indeed