i remember when i first tried to
tell him about what happened
i remember going up to him,
like any normal day,
and saying "hi."
asked whats up and
instead of being all cute
like i usually am,
my smile faded and i
he knew something was wrong and
he asked, "is it boy problems?"
i laughed a bit,
told him "kind of" and
then i backed away and
said "maybe next time."
i should've told you then.
maybe this hell i'm living in
wouldn't have been so hot with
you here to
I can still feel your memories crawling,
up and over the creases in my skin,
collecting my scars like leaves—
I think they found a way to burrow through my pores.
Sometimes I can feel them gnawing away at that soft grey thing we call a brain,
until I can't remember the strange order of those letters we call our names.
So you see,
it wan't my fault—
when you asked me the time I told you I loved you.
I was never any good at writing love poems, darling—
in the same way I was never any good at loving the right things.
Like a kid with 26 cavities loves candy,
each time you bit my neck I fell in love with the bruises.
Sometimes I still press my fingers against my collarbones
trying to re-create your violet imprints.
Say my name one more time.
It always sounded scarlet on your tongue.
Cast your fishhook words at my shins—
until I can feel the syllables sinking through my skin—
until I can feel myself limping forward again.
they call me unstable,
like a half-brokes table.
And I keep trying to slip things under the broken leg
but nothing seems to hold me up.
It's been 7 months and I still shake each times someone tries to lean on me—
I used to be someone people could lean on.
Summer is coming fast and i'm still to faded from the winter to greet it with open arms.
I've fallen in love with the cold and I'm not ready for the too-bright sun to kiss my pale shoulders.
I miss the overcast days—
I used to believe you loved me too—
It's 6:26 am and I'm still thinking of you.
When I look back,
I remember Montpelier is where I started.
Things were simpler, the days were easier, and everything was brighter.
It’s amazing how much has changed since then.
Back then I didn’t worry about school.
Education was free, I loved learning, and recess was invigorating.
But now, school has conquered my mind with questions like:
Can I pay next year?
What about loans?
Can I keep my scholarship?
Will I have to drop out?
The struggle is alive people, and if you don’t realize it will eat you alive.
Over the years, friends have decreased, family members deceased…
Days have grown longer, and the years have become harder.
My chromatic days filled with vibrant colors have faded away…
The lively colors of my youth have faded away to black, white, and somber greys.
Black carries the bad times, the uncertainty, the doubt.
These times are constant…
White carries the pockets of sunshine within your life…
The good days, when everything is going right, or when a certain special person steps in your life.
And, the grey carries those days where you just don’t know…
Those days where you are stuck in the mundane cycle, constantly trying to find your drive.
I just wonder, where did those vibrant days go?
Because most days I am stuck in the greys…
And, simply, I just do not where did Montpelier go?
I remember the last time we talked
My voice trembled like a violin string
As always my mouth was numb and locked
And the phrases I couldn't utter seemed to boil and sting
I watched distraught words float by on the breeze
As I desperately tried explaining to you,
With embarrassment and unease
All we could and should be, all I dreamed and knew
Tried weaving a future from a tangled past.
I saw you through curtains of heavy fog
Your eyes bleary and glassed
I stuttered and muttered and wept and I couldn't
And I knew that I wouldn't
Give words to the ineffable mess in my brain.
I looked up, the mist breathed slowly
You walked away like a slow and silent midnight train
The sun was shining through the clouds, golden and holy
As the white haze of things unsaid weighed upon the rolling hills
Do you remember Oak Park?
No... I am not talking about the town,
The suburb of Chicago...
I am talking about the little park
On the corner of Oak Street
The one with the wood lot,
All the pines, planted in a row.
And the swings...
And the funny animals on springs...
We could get them going til
Their noses nearly
Touched the ground...
I always thought those trees
Were creepy. Too phoney...
Like they marched there
From the 'real' woods,
Got tired, and planted themselves
In lines and rows...
You told me about the troll
That lived under the road...
In the tunnel that the creek,
And... it was a long tunnel...
Under a four lane road.
A long scooch through,
Legs spread on the sides
Of the tunnel, so we didn't get wet,
The creek was so much
Bigger there. We collected
Crawdads and followed
We found a stash of
Pink and blue ceramic
Bathroom tiles... shattered.
We collected the shattered
Pieces and pretended
They were jewels.
A faraway land.
And then we got the call...
It's time for dinner.
The warp of time,
a memory so refined
that it sits naked
cradled in your mind.
My baby, you cry
‘oh, what is this division
that has cast us so apart?’
Time. Time and tremors
and the absence of lusture
in our lives.
I kiss the scars of our past.
The heady punch of whiskey,
and the overspill
from your father’s ice machine.
I remember it well.
And, my friend;
the cigarettes in the park,
the first time we split
and cut school together.
I remember it well.
in the supermarket aisles
mistaken for lovers
by the strangers on the streets.
Half-right and half-witted
we fell into the role
with a bumbling
grace. Bless yourself
with the compliments
you know I have for you.
Remember them well
whilst I kiss the scars of our past.
No one is talking, but so much is said. We were gonna stay here but were leaving instead. We both set off but theres just one thing, were going our separate ways, not the same.
They may feed you the lines and fill you with wine, but know that your just their pawn. Soon you'll remember that I was the one, You made your choice and now Im gone.
Morning is a Consequence Id rather not face alone
The hotel floor is my home, cause I couldnt make it sober to bed. Stumbled in and passed out, the vodka straight to my head. The night becomes faded, As this girl becomes jaded the same.
Summer lighting flashes, and only Miami knows
Wake up late in the evening, hungover and believeing, that Id never put myslef through that again. The highway is roaring and the girl is still snoreing, I sit and wait for my ship to come in.
The rain has picked up and the wind has started blowing,
I keep walking this path, but Ive no way of knowing
A cold breeze blows and the rain dies down,
such a busy city and not a soul around.
Been walking for miles and Im soaked to the bone.
So far from anything; so close to home.
By night at twelve,
You'll hear the cricket bleat.
Go dance the song of Death.
But remember to count your breath.
A friend I am not
I do not know how to mask desire with faithfulness
To falsely turn my cheek for the sake of another
No friends have I sought
But only intricate details of a lover
Held up in brilliant contrast to the sun
Until their affections I have won
Which subdue me for a while or so
But a friend I am not, so off they must go
As sidewalks are laced with tiny delicacy in blue
They say to me, 'I will not forget you'
But what is forgotten, if remembered without meaning?
Ah, and the blue laced flowers waver, unsure
As if to remember is to abhor