i drink too much coffee
and i think about you often,
but seldom speak to you.
maybe because i am made
of train wrecks and falling skies
and i am afraid to speak.
or maybe because i am afraid
of my feelings when they say
your name loudly in the dead of night,
you know, those nights,
when the cold outside creeps in
into your shirt and under your skin
and there is no heat to believe in.
your name still makes my heart beat.
but i am confusion and thunderstorm,
two things i have a phobia of.
so, darling, forgive me for not
calling you sometimes in the dead of night.
because when afraid of myself
i fear you might be afraid
of me, as well.