i don’t want to remember that i’m naked, but with every thought of you i’m reminded about the vulnerability of my frantic empathy. i’m a fucking speck of dust, swirling, exposed. night after night i delve into the rasping simulation of connection, but your hands cannot reach my bare skin and i don’t know if one day i will find them resting there. i cannot see you but i know you linger, but i know everyone lingers, precarious on the rim of the grave, clinging onto a semblance of superficial beauty. pedestrian. accessible. i relish in the throbbing low heat of hedonism, setting the mood with spiderweb whispers and fraying dedication, but i’m still naked between these layers and your narrowing vision promptly perforates the threads.