Like a warm, 10-gauge pump-gun,
Slamming into my shoulder with each shot--
My heart beats against my chest,
But aiming for what, I do not know.

It's drunk on caffeine,
Drunk on daydreaming,
And breathing heavily.

The cicadas' purr in Summer
Sound more sane & soothing
Than the synchronized pumping.

Abandonment & longing.
Sensuality & intrigue.
It is completely exhausting
Existing in these two separate paradigms simultaneously.

My pulse is racing,
Yet I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open.
(I feel as if I'm floating.)
[I need to leave, and yet these heavy blankets keep me anchored.]