If I met myself in a gas station in ten years
it would be in Laramie Wyoming
The fog forming a translucent lavender blanket
Drops of hail hit the gravel
like shots raining down on school campuses
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
If the world was blue
the sky and ocean would blend together
there would be no up, no down
roller coasters would travel in loops,
backwards plummeting to nothing
music notes would flow in crescendos
of sorrow melting to glass
spinning on a pipe
waiting to take shape
like the pink and white cardboard
consumed in a tornado of sugar
clutched in sticky hands and velcro shoes
of a little girl standing alone in a crowd
trying to find the secret to dissapear
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
The photograph hanging
above my bed
the lone populous
surrounded by white
unwelcoming walls, glistening skin,
drawers painted with delicate flowers
crisply folded inside.
This place where I am yours.
Your blank canvas screaming of solitude.
Together we are not alone.
Before I go I whisper goodbye
Everything everlasting
in the time in between.
Between you and me.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
I took your sticky hand
Both of us uncomfortable in long checkered jumpsuits
and button down polos.
That Thanksgiving we made pilgrim hats and pasta string necklaces
We walked to the park through the little white gate
that seemed so tall we could barely reach but now it squeaks and the bells broke.
The path through the sour grass flowers is overgrown with cancerous weeds
the trees are too small to climb, and the big one with roots is populated
by empty teenagers making out and carving their names in our place.
This is where the bodies are buried. Where we said goodbye.
Where we played, our little world
of imagination filled lazy times streamed with
sudzy bubbles: Popped.
I’m sorry I failed you Jack. That she failed you.
For giving up too soon. I know you
wish she held on longer, that she fought
for you and I. You moved away because she left you
And I left you and so you left me, alone.
You lost so much, but you got out, peeled your eyes
from the flickering screen. Flashbacks of
our shared childhood ripped away.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC