I smack a bottle of chewable
once-a-day vitamins off my table
as I walk to unlock my bedroom door.
Suman asks me to turn down
my speakers, “Mom is being spiritual.”
I slap the door till it clicks on her
without a word. I turn around
to yank out the audio cable.
In silence, I pickup the vitamins
off the maroon floor
and motion like a pitcher.
My fast pitch makes a wormhole
and the gummy’s disappear in the
vast emptiness of the universe
that is my comforter;
where my pillows are spaceship
which collided during the Battle of Dreams.
Hassan, a law student, inadvertently
texts me words of courage from
the east coast,“I believe in you, brother.”
I scrub out disappointment,
attitude, and anger in the shower.
I clean out tar.
I prance around the streets
with a four door Mazda,
the two door Mazda
for a family five,
as the snow lifts
my car like a tornado
to whirl, twirl, and swirl
but in a slow, gentle manner so
I can focus on the traffic
of idiots who want to play
tag. On the other
side of town, Everything*
is waiting on his porch
with glinting fingers.
The feeling I can never explain something just ingrained within you.
I can't explain what I never could understand.
We are the dreamers and suffer those who are awake.
Tragic are those who lack vision, misfortune is yours please spare mine.
The blade is now a pen my blood now Ink .
For whom it is lost is more found I.
The rejects of night are but misfits of my day.
As the poison seeps in as my creativity flows unto a void created in chaos none of which
was of my choosing.
Were all dreamers caught within a nightmare's grasp, losers of a game we chose not to play.
But we dam sure tried in spite of it all.
The blank page remains a suicide note to the forgotten chapter in a dust collected manuscript.
Secrets are best left buried like shipwrecks on the ocean floor.
Why be the judge when none are innocent or ever so guilty as I.
Dam the nights for bringing the memories upon me ,
and curse my thoughts for remaining after all these drinks.
Haunted are the souls of the living simply empty vessels that fill the streets.
Many years of passed.
Yet these thoughts never age .
Goddam the nights and winters empty chill!
The fire now only seems to smolder a dragons bluff to wolves such as I.
I hear the others howl I simply choose to ignore the sound.
Taking refuge in my thoughts and torment in scars past.
Empty are these thoughts that I unearthed tonight.
I hear the howls outside my door.
They are my burden and none else to understand.
In witching hours of lost hopes and broken dreams I find my solace.
I've ran with demons and slept with many angels, to burn only in the cold of ice.
Tomorrow is always a dream as from this nightmare maybe I'll wake.
Treasure the silence in it we find our true selves.
I hear the howls I simply choose to no longer answer.
Did she touch my head
Did she smile
Was I drunk and wrong instead
Did I imagine what was said?
Did she touch my hand
Did she look with strong desire
Was there something in her eyes
I am uncertain with goodbyes
As she left I question
Was it kindness was it care
was it gentle friendship
That was there?
Was it sex was it lust
Was it baseless short desire
That plays me to the fire?
Was it movement without meaning
Was it apathetic leaning
Absentminded action that was lacking in all feeling?
I don't know
I don't know
But I wonder while I wander
Through my memories and ponder
Did she? Was she? Will she?
Be someone I should pursue?
I don't know,
As emotion rolls out those close around can see the pain deep inside of me. The nights when I lay awake in vain, haunted. It's the fact that your presence keeps sweeping over me. I can see you just like before, your old pickup truck and your flannel jacket torn. Your eyes so bright, so full of beautiful life. little did you know your major role and impact on life. Gone but not forgotten my memories play, I'll never forget that day, when I was forced to give you away. With the echoes of my hurt heart beating everyday I remember you, and all that you used to do. There is never a more true statement then the one that Last i Heard come from you, when you had said "son I love you". I've laid awake these countless nights dreaming about you and your wonderful life. But it hurts, my heart hurts! It yearns for you, it's like a massive hole that's just ripping me into two. I just hope that you miss me to. And I promise I'll hold that moment, that last moment that I got to see you.
the ticket’s too big to fit in my palm
the bag’s too heavy to trail behind
giants carried briefcases glued to their hands
and mourners took flight to the end of the world
my father’s gait was too fast
to keep up to for the short length of my legs
nina the yellow sheep bobbed happily along
as did the pig tails attached to my head with bows
despite the noise, the crowds, the lines
excitement fueled the erratic behavior of
the butterflies currently residing in my stomach
behind the 101 dalmatians t-shirt that dressed me
i never thought the airport would become a second home
the planes that flew over head while i looked at the sky
from my backyard would become not
just a mode of transportation
even if the thought appeared in my head
the young naive girl that i once was would be pleased
with the statement and rather excited as always
she would board 1000 planes and still wouldn’t have minded
the ticket is just an other piece of paper
and the bags were tattered with experience
the men with gray faces traveled with their gravestones
and the loved ones were still at the end of the world
my stranger’s gait was still too fast
but this time his urgency didn’t appeal
there was no stuffed animal to take away the dreams
just the headphones that contained the remedy
noisy crowds were just an other member of the family
they didn’t mind that the butterflies were now
dormant or dead or maybe they left when i had to
throw away my 101 dalmatians t-shirt
the 7 houses i previously occupied had all burned down
the airport was the only one still standing
it changed its face many times but held the same feeling
an airplane is a calm palace in the sky
sometimes i miss the girl that thought these houses were exciting
sometimes i miss the sweet naivety of her father’s ways
sometimes i miss the blank passport of the unknown
but then again 1000 planes later i don’t mind
I find it funny that the girl who brought us together
was the one who taught me how to smoke.
It’s funny because now, whenever I smell cigarette smoke
my mind strays to thoughts of you.
My mind wanders back to the times
when we would share a cigarette together,
when the only thing I could be conscious of was how your lips
had just touched this very same filter 10-seconds ago,
and how nice it must feel to have you
inhale all the good parts in
and exhale the bad parts out.
I concentrate on how delicately you balance
the cigarette between your lips,
how knowingly you
grasp it between your fingers,
how you hold it like
it means something,
and how much I want to be held by you.
My eyes un-focus
and all I can visualize is the
way the smell would stay on your fingers
as you caressed my face,
leaving untraceable fingerprints on
the edge of my bottom lip.
All I can think of is how the taste of the tobacco
would still be present on your lips as you kiss me softly,
with just enough nicotine staining them to give me a slight head rush.
I know you enough to know that cigarettes are your biggest vice.
It’s the thing that brings you comfort in times of stress,
the one thing you’ve tried to quit, but always go back to.
We used to do this trick where I inhale the cigarette smoke
and exhale it into your receiving mouth;
our lips touching, closing off everything else but each other.
You’d exhale the excess and smile at me and I couldn’t help but smile back.
You see, it may have not been obvious but I wanted to be your cigarette.
I will always want to be your cigarette.
I want to be something you always crave,
something you go out of your way to posses,
something you keep close by at all times because you’re afraid to lose it,
something that you’re wary to give out and share
because you’re scared you’ll run out of enough of it for yourself.
And I know that they say that each cigarette
you smoke takes a day off your life,
but when we’re smoking together,
and we inhale the same amount,
and smoke the same number of cigarettes,
it’s almost as if we’re creating a bulletproof plan
where we lessen our days here so we never have to live without the other.
And I also know that cigarettes ignite then crumble to ashes,
and I’m aware that they have their inevitable end.
But maybe, you’ll have enough of my nicotine personality stained on your lips
to get you through the empty pack,
enough creativity to not let me burn out to the filter,
and enough passion to not let me disappear through the cracks
but let me linger
on your clothes,
on your fingers,
in the air,
like cigarette smoke.