We are Recycled Materials

Young, free, and swooning for strangers.

Listen to your body and follow what feels good.

New people, new places, reusable straws, and right swiping.

Will you lie with me?

We can dance, tell me your best jokes again, impress me and I'll be your favorite fuck.

Don't know me, hold me. Avoid me. slowly, Don't show me

What is behind that paisley white curtain, id rather not know.

Please, just dance with my fantasy.

"I don't know man, We were just catching a vibe, it was great until it wasn't, she just started to flip out."

I'm not attached I'm not attached I'm not attached

echoes through the drafty ecstatic halls and catches like stuck acid claws up my throat.

Broken agreements and the silence of truth.

Unspoken undercurrent, and the violent dance on her body. We don't just throw away phones and phonetics, We throw away people.

Tossed like stones on the shores of pleasure and bones of a culture who's longing reaches to the depths of an ancestry empty. I once heard this definition of addiction:

"to grasp at something we think we want, but don't actually need."

We call it free love

I call it: Recycled materials, and Disposable people.

But My longing,

she is still here. patiently

she sits across, gazing.

I want to see the way your mother gets under your skin.

I want to watch you rise, and fall again,

When life's awful grace knocks out your feet.

I want to feel your breath deepen as you fall asleep.

I don't want fantasy, I want family.

So please, lets stop dancing like disposable people.