A Bulimic Idea of Keeping You Close

In a state of memorabilia I have a bulimic idea of keeping you close and purging every ounce of our togetherness. But may I state and for the record because if you don't record it there is no proof; you should keep all I've given you because it'll be cashable soon and I want to see you rise and fall. The bankruptcy of your truancy to me would be profoundly new but ultimately revolutionary. There is a different kind of treasure in a sea of dislocated feelings where telephones never ring for the lack of connection is evident. There is a deprivation of dialect that swells within the sheets of unmade beds and stained walls with all the odd shaped thoughts that keep reflecting wonderfully in my nightmares. Red lights flashing for me to stop but I'm coasting on a yellow looking to drown.