Saturday, April 30, 2011

i was born to leave

Thursday, April 28, 2011

You're wearing khaki's and you hate the way your ankles show when you sit down.
It is a crack in your castle, a water stain in your panic room-
and your scared she might get in through those few centimeters of exposed skin;
a weakness.

"will i live?"
"With continued medication and therapy you can learn to-"
"will i live?"
"for how long?"
and she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose and i think she looks like the type to wear glasses. she probably goes home every night and puts on those glasses and drinks wine and looks over notes about all the kids that evolution failed. 
"Far too long."
there was a flood in the basement of town hall;
filing cabinets and bookshelves as islands surrounded by 
a sea of faulty plumbing.
you kissed with your whole mouth
"run away with me, they'll never know we even existed."
you used to turn the TV on for the static and pretend that lines and noise
could hold you at night.
you would laugh and smile and pretend that bad things didn't happen and all the stories on the news 
ended with "april fools"

you knew the sickness, knew something angry in your bones like termites.
baby, you're so fucking sexy and you're so fucking 
i was this magnificent flash, a dying star a
i was a pre-game post-game fuck-in-the-backseat 
kind of mess. i could take the words and run them 
like fingertips down the back of your arm and i could make you feel something-
collar bones and hip bones and that pulse in apex of your thighs.

i was capable and i was sure of myself and i was
i was beautiful i was dangerous
i was a wildfire and i'd burn you alive.
i'm pissed at myself. i feel like i'm writing pointless shit and
i can't think of anything good so if you can list prompts or whatever
that would be cool, otherwise i might just end up writing about the only thing i have been
for the last 8 months
over and over.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

its when 'please' becomes 'thank you' and your teeth 
find my neck. 

it's about watching her eyes go wide when i start
being loud.
and every inch of your hips closer is another
breath i just can't seem to reach. and you're touching your hair and i think
that maybe, 
i'd like to do unholy things to you.

the passive aggressive bible;

there comes a time in life you just have to give up
you have to accept that wanting can't sway having 
and that some people will just let you down.

you have to accept that you tried
and you did everything you could.
you need to accept that some people just don't think 
about unpleasant things and that no matter what, eventually it'll catch up with them
when they're home and it's dark. you have to accept that some people will promise
and they'll break it. some people will forget about you.
some people will lie to make you feel better
some people will lie to make themselves feel better about the truth.
you'll know some people and they will be the most amazing wonders
and then they'll change and be happy and leave things that threaten that happiness
even if those things meant a lot before
and then spit on the history.
you have to accept that some people aren't who you thought they were
and that all the love in your heart belongs to a memory.

you have to accept that you've made mistakes, a lot of them.
you have to accept that each one of those mistakes is going to haunt you.
you have to push some people out of your life. 
you have to accept that maybe you never really knew the person
all along. 
you have to accept that certain people just don't feel things the way you do
and some people will beg for you on the phone and then lie right to your face.

some people will move on,
some people won't.
and you have to realize that you deserve the ones who won't leave you dry
after promising a forever of looking back and fond memories and intermittant conversation. 
sometimes you have to accept that sometimes the energy spent wishing
someone the best things in life and worrying 
that they're eating right and loving 
the person they are
is better spent somewhere else.
and sometimes you have to accept that this isn't you fault and that
you can leave a door cracked
and the other person will close it.

we try to be happy, we settle back into routines
we sleep with our backs touching and
we start exercising and we do what we need to do
to make sense of things.

you push it all down and you push it all out of your mind
so it sits by the doorstep and it waits
you tell me to smile more and force the shine back into your eyes
but i see the way you look at my hands and 
i know you remember.

[just give me one sign.]
she had a gift with sentences, could tame them into something beautiful and
her teachers begged her to write for them, to show people
to show the whole world and she refused because
the world ruins beautiful things and at the end of the day
all she had was ink.

[please. i know you still read this.
tell me you miss me. that's all i want to hear.]

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

all i want is one comment.
let me know you still exist. 

deaf ears are the cruelest.
someone's turned the lights off and i'm just stumbling
trying to grab onto anything.

when i shut the door, i think the sun exploded-
so i'll just get stoned and lay on my bed alone
thankful it was ever there in the first place.

[i know you're out there.
say something, i'm starting to fear this was all a dream.]
and one day you wake up to realize
that you aren't sad anymore.

Monday, April 25, 2011

"settle up you're calling up the pain
sitting dead the sinker and the string
you came, you saw, you sawed her brain
cut out all the parts that held your stain"
-justin vernon

and it was a feeling bigger than i could ever imagine, like our hearts were
growing from our bodies and the sadness came flooding like water into our boots
on a quiet drive home with the music off and lamp posts washing their light
on your sleeping shoulder 

are you out there?
are you happy

he wasn't the same after his tour ended; he
spoke too quietly and walked through the airport gripping his dog tags.
he couldn't sleep in the safety of the states and needed the patter of friendly fire
to ease his mind so he set the television to war movies and 
watched out his front door. 

"Mom says she misses you, you should come over more often."
"I will, I'm just busy. I will."
"Christ, when's the last time you ate? Come over tonight."
"I'll try! I don't know what you want me to say."

he left Iraq
and now we're all just waiting for him to come home.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

there is a dimension where we are laying in bed right now
and neither of us is sad.

you deserve that universe.
you deserved that universe.
there is peace in giving up, no happiness
but a sense of calm as if i have been twisted 
and wrung out like a wet rag.

it feels like
i am leaving the hospital and yeah
i'm not all fixed and the world is still as cruel as it's always been but
i have rested, i have relied on another, i have let someone take care of me
and yeah, i think it's time to go home.

I'm cold and it's dark and I think I'm all used up, a cored apple. 
She called me beautiful and I wanted to feel what love was- an angry hornet 
in the chambers of my heart.
Everyone speeds here and they don't care 
that I am hemorrhaging I am bleeding out on their sidewalk
I am surrounded by ghosts.
They taught me how to survive plane crashes and terrorist attacks and nuclear explosions
but they never taught me what to do after
when I was all alone.

I am an oil fire I am a day old snake bite
I am a hanging deer draining into the backyard.
I feel dry.

i only asked for a few hours
to say goodbye
and i couldn't even have that, could i?

Saturday, April 23, 2011

we had been moments apart before i had ever
conceived the notion of you, seen your face. and i think i must have felt it, separated by a mile of
grape vines and bare roads.
there were times i'd sit on the dock and watch how the water
never settled and thought about how glaciers dug their fingers into the earth and carved
their names in the slate and i wanted to be changed too, i wanted
to be breathtaking.
i remember an exact moment that summer in the shallows
i believed in myself, i believed that glaciers were crawling through my heart and
i could be this wonderful one day. i think i felt your heart
before i'd even known it.
i sensed you
like a metal detector in my brain i sensed
something amazing and wonderful and knew that 
everything melts. i knew that i was this place and
you left footprints in my dirt, you touched water i touched 
and i would do anything to go back there right now
and crawl into the warm yellow bed in the room with all wood, 
and sleep and eat again and wake up happy
i would do anything to feel footprints

[i used to watch you write, watch the way the pen would twist and drag over the paper;
you always turned things beautiful, you know?]
i want someone with artist's hands and a poet's tongue
to crack my spine and trace every last word with
quiet eyes.

i want a girl with dark curly hair who can move her hips like
wind and steal the air from my lungs.

i want a girl who smells like the ocean and seeps
light, a little blonde head that can make a pillow seem


Dear Patrick,
      They started filling graves in the cementary with concrete here. They said it would stop any bodies from being unearthed if the River ever floods again. It was a beautiful ceremony though, and you should have been there. I wished you had stayed.

      Remember when we used to go to the mall to watch people? And June told us that one out of every five people is a murderer and we all started counting off people by fives. I still think about that, if there's even a grain of truth in it.  I think about that day a lot, laying in bed until trying to control my heartbeat, trying to remember lines of a face that I don't see anymore. I still see the people from highschool, though. People that had one or two classes with her and they always tell me that they miss her. Like I give a fuck if they miss her. It makes me so angry, they get to pretend to grieve and hoard these memories of her in English Regents while we have to sit here feeling ourselves forget the exact way her hair fell. I still go to the mall and watch, hoping I'll see her. I'd run up to her and say "I thought you left me" and she would laugh and I could take her home. Hannah would smile again for the first time in months and you'd come home from California. We could all eat hot dogs and watch "Will and Grace", feeling stupid for thinking she had actually left us. I think it's almost like losing a tooth, you know? The tooth's always been there and you sorta always expect it to be. Then one day, you trip and it's gone, leaving this empty where it used to be and it aches. Oh Patrick, it aches. You keep forgetting it's actually gone until run your tongue over that terrible empty hole. The dentist tells you it will hurt less with time but it never does. Each time it stings more than the last and your mouth is filed with the heavy taste of blood. I keep forgetting she's not here. For weeks, I'd call her cell phone, devastated when it went straight to voice mail but secretly thrilled to hear her voice again. I felt bad though, Patrick, as if I was stealing something that wasn't mine. The voice on the voice mail was one that belonged to Hannah and I never stopped feeling guilty for hearing it.

      Hannah locked herself in her bedroom the day after June was laid to rest. She wrote. I would press my head to the door and listen to her pound away at the keys. She never left that bedroom, not even to eat. If Mom was here, she'd say, "She's runnin' off grief".  Like a dry oil lamp that continues to burn into morning, without any purpose or direction. No one has the guts to just blow it out, so it keeps burning and that's how Hannah worked. She was burning away in all that grief.

      Remember when we went to that concert? We couldn't get seats so we brought a blanket into that disgusting bathroom and heard it from there, interrupted only by drunken teenagers stumbling to the trashcan. In the car ride home you put the roof down and my hair blew all over, but we weren't cold, Patrick, not cold at all. And I remember that things felt like they were perfect. Things aren't meant to be perfect though, Patrick, and maybe that's why she had to die. Snowflakes have to melt because if everything was always so perfect, there would be no faith. God would be proved to exist and some people can't handle that. You need to not know if he's there, otherwise whats the point? Mom would always make us sit in church in the blistering summer, drilling it into our head that he exists, but I think now, that you need to prove it for yourself. Hannah and June fell asleep in the backseat and I almost didn't notice that their hands were intertwined. You didn't see it though, because June was always yours and her hand should have always been with you.

      I always heard the typewriter when I passed Hannah's room. I'm not dumb Patrick, I knew everything that she was writing. It was about June, how could it not have been? I wanted to read it so badly too, I wanted to see her come alive in my head. I wanted to steal every single one of Hannah's memories. I wanted something solid too, Patrick. But I was afraid, afraid of how it would change her in my head. One afternoon I just broke down at a stoplight. I couldn't remember her, I couldn't grasp her face or her voice and I knew I was losing more than June. Sobs were jumping into my mouth faster than I could suppress them, my mutinous body determined to grieve with or without my consent. Waves kept crashing over me and I couldn't see past the blurring in my eyes. I was going to march right into Hannah's room and read all of it. Every single word on paper, I was going to take it all away from her. The lock clicked echos into the front hall and she was standing there. Hannah, feeding papers into the fireplace, ash swirling around her like a snowstorm. She burned all of it. I went to church that night, the doors were bigger than I remember and I felt no solace in the memory of my starched dress or you pulling at your necktie.

       Eventually she stopped eating all together. Her stomach was a concave and she was too weak to move. She'd sleep on the sofa and I would touch her face. I had to sit there and brush her brittle hair, do you have any idea of what that's like Patrick? I just had to watch her drown and I couldn't do a damned thing about it.

     You left though, Patrick, you left. Things would have been different if you had stayed. You could have moved in with us, in June's old room. Then maybe, just maybe, we all could have healed together. Seeing that empty room everyday made me sick. Hannah was just so lost, like everyone turned out all the lights and she was stumbling, grabbing for anything solid to hold on to. She just lost herself in the dark. And when she did leave her room, I couldn't even look at her. Her face was June's, white like a doll in her coffin. She'd crawl to me, desperately seeking human connection and I'd try not to wince as her hands touched my arm. She disgusted me and I hated myself for it, she needed me and I couldn't even look at her. I think that's when she started seeing them. Her mom, her dad, her little dog from when she was little. Her eyes would get glossy and she'd carry on conversations with them.  She never saw June though, and if it could have possibly killed her even more it would have. The only person she wanted to see and she couldn't.

     I knew when the day came. I knew it from the second I unlocked the apartment and was greeted by that silence. Not the normal silence, this was the silence that just didn't sit well, the silence before dawn, the silence before a firework. I wanted to check her eyes to make sure she wasn't having a fit, but as I got close, she looked at me with that emptiness and I knew it was the day.

       "You'll tell them won't you? Tell them that I tried, I really tried but she's waiting for me. I can feel it, it's been a terribly long time to wait and all I really want to do is see her."  Her voice was light as she rummaged through her room, searching under piles of clothes and bottles of water.  It was a lightness I hadn't heard since April, a lightness that in any other situation I would have killed to hear from her again. The gears in my head froze over and I had a sudden urge to run away. Far away, the farthest I could get from here, fuck everyone else, I needed to live and to live I needed to be far far away. Is that the feeling you got, Patrick? If so, I can understand why you left. I could feel myself nod, but I was not in that room with Hannah, I was far far away in some quiet place where the snow falls and you can see every atom of your breathe.  She kept talking, rambling in a happy delirium.
       "Hey" she put her skeletal hand under my chin and brought my eyes to hers. "You forgive me, don't you? You have to forgive me, I tried. I tried so hard but she's waiting and without her nothing is right. Maybe when you fall in love you'll understand, you have to forgive me. I just need her so much more and even if all I get is one last glance at her before it's all dark. That's enough for me, I can't stand the forgetting, I can't stand to lose her again. I tried, I tried to bring her back through my writing but I couldn't. Nothing was right. It's time to make everything perfect again". I sat at the table and smoked a cigarette, June's butts still laying in the bottom of the ashtray. It had been so long, how could they still be there? And I felt a little sick knowing Hannah had kept them, so I pulled one and slowly brought it to my lips and thought, her lips had once touched this. She was real, she had been real and she had been here. I didn't move when I heard the hairdryer or the splash and all the lights flickered.
       I called the ambulance in a daze and it came blazing with flashing red lights that reminded me of Christmas. Remember Christmas, Patrick? Remember how Dad used to string lights up in that old cherry tree in the back yard. The tree we weren't allowed to play on because some of the branches were hollow but they were perfect to climb. Dad warned us not to eat from that tree because it's cherries were poisonous so they would rot right on the tree. The gooey disgusting cherry rot would just ooze off onto the ground and you could slip and fall on it. Remember that, Patrick? It smelled like death and life at the same time. We avoided the slime at all costs, but there it was in the kitchen, a pile of sweet rot. They could have saved her life and nothing would have changed because she was already dead. She died in that car with June. No one ever understand that except me. 
      I just got home from the hospital that smelled like every season combined into one, smothered with cleaning supplies. I'm feeling so alone right now Patrick and I can feel the sickness spred throughout me. I'm asking you to come home. You need to see how they cover Hannah with concrete and how the river won't ever flood again. You need to come home and move me out of that apartment because seeing their empty rooms is making me feel sick again and I can't stop and that's why you really need to come home Patrick, I really need you to come home.

Friday, April 22, 2011

they came for her while she was dancing and
it didn't even matter because she knew that at that last moment
she had been free.
it's funny how someone's lips on your neck can make you feel like
you're exactly where you're supposed to be in the world at that second.

girl we could
stop time.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

sometimes a good sleep is all we need to
break our promises

maybe in two years i haven't changed at all.


hello, misery,
have you come to take me?

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

childhood laughter

[reposting this because i love it.]

it made you nervous, the game where she laid in the center of the giant bed
waiting for the prince's kiss
too pale, too small, too delicate
child's breathe close to her ear,
wake up wake up wake up

we used to go to furniture stores together.

and now a clawed foot living room set can bring tears to my eyes

"you're fucking high right now aren't you?"
"i'm not high! i'm tired, i work all day and what do you do?"
"don't lie to me."
oh how the mighty have fallen; you can't even remember the last time she
wasn't trashed and touched you with clear hands. all kisses taste like
metal, teeth and rough as if she wanted to 
destroy you with the burning ache. 
you envied the chemicals because she loved them
with unconditional want, they sank through her blood stream and
all through every inch of her just like you 
used to.

you passed the store walking home two weeks later and
you told her to leave that night.

crystal balls

we used to pull the covers over our heads and kiss-
that's when you first told me that my eyes could hold you
in places arms couldn't; you told me that
my eyes swore promises that my lips couldn't keep.
my skin was a crystal ball and the swirling smoke that threatened
to tell you a little too much.

we were easier, i was sober
and you were kinder then.
i'd go to grab my shirt and you'd close those beautiful long fingers
[violin strings, branches of a birch tree]
around my wrist and pull me away,
"you are so beautiful, keep it off."

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

reflections of trees in dirty gutter puddles on the interstate-
fields as far as the eye can see all flooded with tiny little currents mimicking the sea.
waving goodbye to a mother full faced moon as i cross the city limits

some shitty downstate town with not enough money and 
too much rain.

Monday, April 18, 2011


i can't believe someone so beautiful could be so cruel.
i am so glad you are happy now and 
all your days are good days
but you knew how bad
it hurt me. 

and it
didn't change
a thing for you, did it?
i hope you understand that this
isn't right and i'm glad i made you look
me in the eyes and see exactly what this was:

i think i fucking hate you. 


Sunday, April 17, 2011

hey guys, i'm embarking on a really tough time in my life but it is completely necessary in order for me to be happy, in the words of P. Diddy, 
"Sergio gon' be alright."

i'm gonna be alright.
but, i find catharsis in writing and 
prompts are really appreciated if you guys can handle them, it can be anything
a word, a picture, a phrase, a feeling, a memory,
it can be a person. a place. a longing.
a verb a noun an adjective
give me something to clear my head
i will be a lighthouse
untouched by a thousand years of sea.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

i stitched my own prayers from scraps of
fabric cut from my core

god, please calm the constant race of my heart
the doctors said it was an arrhythmia but i think
i'm just dying faster than all of you.

god, keep me here.
the doctors said i was different 
their tie to reality is a steel cable cradled high above the trees 
mine is a blue plastic phone cord, chewed by the neighbor's cat, 
laying in a puddle.

god, grant me the courage 
to do something devastating
that the doctors would not agree with.

Friday, April 15, 2011

and life really isn't fair

all you ever wanted was someone to love you 
without obligation and compliments
that fall truthfully from full lips.

and all i ever wanted was to stop being so sick, for someone
to erase the grapevine scars and crave the feel of my hips.
i was a screaming colic baby born with a fever and no,
i'm not okay at all.

and all i want is to go down in flames and for someone
to remember my name when it's all said and done. 
i am latticework in a graveyard, beautiful and intricate and 

and all you want is for the future to mean something,
grasping a barely there idea to your sleeping sawdust chest
and life really isn't fair.

they say forever is a long, long time when you've lost your way
[someone remember my name.]

Thursday, April 14, 2011

i am stars; i am blackholes

i've got a constellation mind stuck playing chess with galaxies
throwing alternate dimensions around like useless pawns. 
so name your left hand God and take the pills they give you
because i've perfected the art of 
beautiful eyes and terrible intentions.
after all this time do i still mean so little?

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

how someone can change right before your eyes, and you dont even notice until its too late.

he had a strong chest,
warm and solid and safe and he would hold you there
and you're heart was so broken.

clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you here
and he knows you don't love him and he
doesn't love anything so it works and you spend the night.

a kick-the-door down kind of white knight, holding your hair back and
not telling you it was all going to be okay because you both knew
it wouldn't. and now his arms are too warm wrapped around you-
suffocating under the weight of his body and you think
"he loves me"
and it is a very dangerous thought.

he tells you and never comes back.
your bed is too big and cold now and you start to miss the way
he could say nothing and fix everything.
you've done something terrible to him and now he feels and cares about
everyone and he doesn't know how to fix himself.
he never comes back and when you see him years later he
has something in his eyes,
the world.
i am a hornet's nest
smashed by the neighbor's son with a baseball bat
but bees are resilient
bees rebuild.

the silence during a phone conversation with someone you love.

we sit on twin size beds 5 hours apart
lost in our heads and you find
the hum of a computer mimicking the breathe of a nearly sleeping body 
next to you.

the life we created was something beautiful inside circuits and the dream
was almost enough.

silence becomes deadly knowing
i can't make your heart race and
the hum of a computer becomes
just the hum of a computer.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

author's note.

listen everyone, you need to listen. this is important, 
someone died 3 years ago on April 13th 

i remember, i remember. you all need to remember

someone died 3 years ago on April 13th and we loved her.
we loved her the best.

the loss of hope that frees something inside

I prayed, like I was supposed to. I prayed every single night and I believed
like I was supposed to. And when I had a crush on Clair in 4th grade I cried
in the confessional and I repented- I sang every single fucking hail mary and I prayed
and it never changed.

And in 8th grade when I loved Emily I closed my hands and I pleaded
with the tiny plastic body on a tiny plastic cross and
nothing ever changed. Were my knees on the ground
not good enough?

We studied pagan rituals in 10th grade and all the others laughed
at their chanting and sacrifices and forced breeding
and I asked the teacher how that was different from what we did
she smiled and said, "Because we're right."

Religion is not a church, religion is not a memorized poem in a big old book.
I went home and I didn't feel guilty.

it can be helped but not solved.

you love math and you see a sort of beauty in it
in the complete honesty that something will always equal another and
it never lies or changes or fucks with your head.

and when your father was sick and weak and didn't remember your name
you'd write quadratic equations on his IV bag and he could smile
and call you 'Numbers'
and it was enough.

they buried him on a Tuesday, the 4th day of the 9th month.
it started on a Friday, the 23rd day of the 6th month
you forgot your own address on the lease form and had to call a friend while
punnet squares screamed in your brain.

formulas became unreachable, lost to the gray matter so you drove to the shore
on the 12th day of the 5th month
to let the sea flood in your bones and left 1 note;
"my address is 382 Rosefallow Avenue"

Sunday, April 10, 2011

what do you guys want me to write about. speak up and i'll probably do it. a phrase, a style, anything. give me inspiration.
chemistry is something stronger than gravity;
from across the room she brushes my hands with her

Friday, April 8, 2011

i want to live in the curve of your breasts. i want to curl myself with your DNA.
promise me you'll love me forever
even when i'm 100.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

It started much as a leaking faucet does, or a cavity in a tooth
the smallest decay, a phantom of a crack, the first delinquent drop
and it's all downhill from there.

they turned a word into a weapon, whispered in high school halls and spit out
on sidewalks, "fag"
and in those three letters- a disease that began to fill the white collar mouths
at rally's with great big red signs. 
we shouldn't have been surprised when they started the numbering. tracked like cattle and branded
with pink triangles. we shouldn't have been surprised when different became illegal and illegal
became lethal. with each drop of the faucet, a person disappeared, rounded up for 
chemical tests and no one said a word besides

there was a bitter taste inside the labor camps, a feeling that we had been here before. for every drip
a human lost their humanity. 

it took Hitler six years to convince the entire population of Germany that babies and mothers and lovers and families
didn't deserve to live. he used the words, twisting them into the cracks of children's books and slipped into the news, so next time you mutter the word faggot, no matter what the insinuation or as harmless
as you may be meaning, remember;
it only took six years.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

the worst part of getting a second chance is
knowing that you don't deserve it

November 15th, 2009.
[someday i will die somehow and something's gonna steal my carbon.]
for the first time i've realized life is not some story i write,
not something i sit back and create- life is not a movie and i am not in the audience. 

life is not a computer screen and life is not a one sided love, every single day we get farther
from what we had and i only regret the reckless decisions
i never made. sometimes life kicks out your ankles and bloodies your nose and says
"choose. right now, choose. are you going to watch everything move around you
or are you going to move it." and i think i gave the wrong answer.

[for the past two months i have been consumed by overwhelming anxiety. even as i complete everything i have to do, even as i sort myself out so i can escape that worry, it persists without cause
or change. my hands shake from the chemicals i am systematically poisoning my body with every morning in order to kill that part of my brain that isn't quite right, for two years i have been taking medication that will break my organs down eventually, this is not drama, this is a fact. i think i am changing, growing, and i think that this constant panic is caused by my acceptance that i am not invincible, that every minute i spend wondering if i made the right decision is a minute i can never get back. i will never get those years back from the hospital. it is the time in my life that i must make the wrong decision knowing exactly what i could lose, it is the time in my life i must stop caring if everything is going to be okay. it is this time in my life i must throw myself off of a bridge without checking if it spans water. i have never fought for anything and if i don't start now, i won't have anything]

Monday, April 4, 2011

take every single regret and
bury it in your backyard.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

whale songs

and you miss them, you really miss them and
your blood feels like it's full of bubbles, like you've somehow lost
gravity along the way. you could just, float through the ceiling at any minute and you
pour rocks into the hollows of your bones to pretend
she's the only thing tying you to the ground again.

baby i love the way you
hold me down. her new presence is a ghost
a shadow on the wall of your mind so you fucking paint it all black
and you mourn what you can't see.

everything is different and your heart is
preserved in amber, a fossil.
your heart is the same.

Friday, April 1, 2011

when you really love someone nothing else matters
and even when they leave
the love doesn't
everyday was her funeral and we 
couldn't stand how beautiful things were when they weren't supposed to be.
i followed the ridges of your tattoo with my tongue and we both cried after but not because
it felt bad but because
it felt good

and all the good things should have disappeared with her. there's empty shoes by the door and 
too many coffee mugs and you smoke her brand of cigarettes so that when i come home
we can pretend. and i take you to bed and let you call me her name. you crawl into my arms
and almost whisper
"i want to be terrible in her absence"
you're the echoes i can't recreate
you're the memories that steal me from sleep.

you're the warm days in my favorite jeans 
you're the nightmare in my every dream

you're the notes that i could never hold 
you're the cement drying in my bones.

you're every word i could ever think
you're the ghost in the bottom of every drink
and you're gone

"look, the stars are thousands of pinpricks in a dome, behind the sky there is only boundless light."
"you know i don't believe in heaven."
"i'm going to take you there someday, we'll cut a hole in the night and i'm going to take you there."