Feeling just a bit desperate (Like those people on the subway who feel the need to check their phones the second the train goes above ground for 3.5 milliseconds and they receive 200 new texts and 20 missed calls) Desperate for a wholeness that I can't seem to reach (But even when a nail is hammered into a wooden door, they are not whole but merely co existing until the wood rots or someone hangs a picture frame that's slightly tilted and the nail is taken out, away, far away from the door) Desperate because I want you around me, on me, beneath me and in me (simultaneously, continuously, and precariously) but at the same time I want you to forget, regret, fret, and direct your whole being to anything but me Because I wish I were a mellow melon instead of a melodramatic drama lemon, sour and cold and bitter, a lemon that stings open wounds when taken out of the refrigerator and rots on the table and is left alone in the fruit bowl as everyone takes the bananas and gra...