There's this silence in my bones,

There’s this silence in my bones,
and a heartbeat;
it’s aggravating the tenderness in my veins,
and don’t even get me started on my blood.
My nails feel milky and way too neutral,
whereas my eyelashes sound like the ocean 
and smell of a typhoon.
My hunger yearns with the wisdom of faulty 
liver lungs and gluttonous disappointment.
My anger is distraught with a mild dose of gout 
and the insides of my thighs,
those burn with a dehydrated passion.
Whereas, my nose can see the difference
between an orange and a smile,
and my eyes can only smell from the grass
to the other greener side of life.
I can’t even register how my skin feels…
my skin isn’t talking to my brain right now.
My brain! My brain…all it knows is sadness and sex
and it is receiving too much of one,
and not enough of the other,
and the one does nothing for me except make my
knees shallow,
and the other leaves me cold
and tired and awake.

I do not want to be awake,
nor do I want to be asleep.