feeling ill and drinking espresso has never
been a decent combo or a good idea and
the thoughts don't make sense
  as much as normal -
see an uncapped Sharpie on the street
and think that there is a
     amazing
poem to tell about this uncapped

magic marker. she says i make everything
magical and wonderful with my
              get-away mind, skid marking
    what any other normal would
say, chop block and chop suey

gone bad. she's desperate to have
me notice her and i'm desperate for
    someone that's not her. my dreams fill
of the girl that got away, slipped out
of my grasp all to haunt my every
dream that i share with the

  quiet night sky who never seems to ask
why it is i feel these ways; acceptance is
the first step in creating lasting
friendships and ours has been solid for years
since. she says that if she

had a magic marker, would draw herself
     up to live in an interdimensional
  realm where she was happy,
ice cream comes out of the spigot
    and couldn’t a soul remember what
the word, “can’t” meant, kissed every
    chance they’d get and burps sounded like
         harps and choir kids. and

        i
think, don’t you
            dare
     beat me to that place.

the colors on the streets and
lights from the bulbs above intermingle,
    mix to dance a dance i shimmy my way in
the middle of. she says i never dance with
her those ways, and i think thoughts, i
          don’t want to, but say

you know i’d love to. she swears i don't love her
and i swear it’s been much too long
  since i cared to try to get her to
believe tricking thoughts otherwise,
stopped caring when the

topics never slowed down none and the
obnoxious situations were beginning to be
common place and i said i would imagine
the magic marker i saw on the street
    made her something wonderful and
  tolerable and just thinking about that
existence and wow, the sickness didn’t
        exist anymore.