Ode to (Your) Solipsism

Sneaking into my bed before midnight
To shelter myself from modern society
I have an urge for cuddles
Not because there is a future
But because it keeps my cardiovascular muscle
Warm, somewhat

How many fucking times

Can I wrench my heart apart
Over someone
Only willing to suck my soul dry?
And so I become giggly

Cheese, butterflies and all
the usual crap that ensues.

For a few days, a fortnight perhaps
Until the dust settles

I have been through
Perfect shit storms
Toxic preludes
Pathogenic flings

Often I feel the urge

To get wasted

And confess to you
What sorts of creatures hide in
The abysses of my derelict heart
Our conversations haunt me

Nonchalant cliché

I will invent excuses and lies
To feed myself later.