if you disconnect less than a 56k modem, that should leave you with room to feel chosen
by a set of spacey cta eyes searching around subconsciously
under the guise of needing to be validated externally
but not being able to bring oneself to admit this reality
leaving almost every second of every day near-death empty
as if eye contact or a brush on the arm would manifest itself internally
could sink right past your tongue and plop wet into your belly
taking a vacant seat somewhere in between your insecurity
making itself at home until another missed opportunity.

I'm still here.
Wandering my curses
Tossing stones between feeling far too much or barely ever at all
Backstroking ambivalence
to prove I still am
I go
Run after my breath
Catch me where you can’t.