Outline

i make frequent visits, to the place where you are
too bad it's not real, but you were all too...
and how close i come, is no consolation
because in sleep, you were always so much more to me
i drift away, to the sound of you breathing
as your scent it swells past my face
your body, painfully close
and the heat it is seething so hot it's like ice it's like needles
and even though it burns me i'll crawl closer and closer
till scars my hands and stings the inside of my chest
and all that is keeping me grounded
is the appendage between
pushing me down from the place of my dreams
and this confabulation is stripping me down
till all that i speak of and all that i sleep
is the reference point stuck in between
i don't believe