Trading Sleep to See You

I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,
Thinking over the experiences and what I should convey,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart,

I muse each day on what to tell you I've seen coming in your chart,
Or the injuries and spiders that cause me to howl and bray,
I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,

Weekly caught up into something new; some philosophy or work of art,
And for the swiftest of ephemeral moments--it seems that all will be okay,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart,

It's not from trying not to tell you; one can't miss the mark without the dart,
I just like to freeze up when I see you--and I love to hear about your day,
I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,

New and fresh experiences that I thrive on, new takes on bitter-acrid-pungent-tart,
A black and white scenario where my perspective brings up gray,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart,

I must seem pathetic for only showing week-to-week my broken heart,
With a laughable libido I try to keep from making me a lousy lay,
I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart

Congested sinuses hiding the rot,
The body breaks down in a place he forgot,
Aerogel,
A wicked smell,
That erodes a living, breathing man- who consumes by drips this draught,

Admittedly ashamed that things won't seem to turn around,
Looking backward at the past when love and promise were abound,
Oblivion,
Would be a sin,
So the memories linger like a faded abstract whose full text will never be found,

Dreaming of a day without this shoulder ache,
That drives me toward a spinal break,
The cruel distractor,
My work's detractor,
Compensating for this strong dissociation where I sleep when I'm awake

I already know I'm no longer the ten,
One at the top of his game, one of those coveted men,

Men who the world bends over backwards to please,
Trapped in my slightest smile or in a harmless tease,

If you're out to pull me from rose-colored visions,
To remind me of reality's distraught conditions,

Just remember that I've known this truth through the ages,
And it isn't your place to remind the captive of cages,

Don't scrape the plaster or paper of the layers of paint,
They cover the burns of a martyr and saint,

The stigmata bleeding is to evoke a remembrance,
That you won't ever worship me in the smallest of semblance,

And if within my eyes you cannot find your God,
I could always cut them out; replace them with a better-suited mod