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shadesoflost
shadesoflost
my pockets have been carrying the weight of these poems like loose change for much too long, and I'm afraid I've grown attached
He stared at me like I was a painting.  He was a boy with eyes like creamed coffee and he could always find the big dipper.  When he spoke you listened even if it wasn’t often.  Lonely and lovely.  He spent a lot of time watching the stars, but often when he was tracing constellations with his piano fingers I was watching his shaky hands instead of the sky.  Piano fingers.  Once he played piano for me and I swear for a moment gravity had reversed and he returned to his real home in the stars.  He never slept, said he liked the way the air outside felt at night but I think he just couldn’t stand being in a home that wasn’t really a home anymore, he found more acceptance on the poorly lit asphalt than in the confines of his own house.  But soon the poorly lit roads and my stumbling words weren’t enough to fill the cemetery growing inside him anymore and he found his Mom’s painkillers.  Two little white pills wrapped in piano fingers to numb.  Soon three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Too numb.  Blood on the floor.  The exhausted glow of streetlights was replaced with the exhausted glow of a hospital light.  I told the doctors if only you could see the stars I swear you would be okay and I kicked and screamed as they dragged me out.  Soon your creamed coffee eyes turned bitter.  You no longer traced constellations in the sky but scratched sadness in your skin.  You managed to get out of your imposter of a home that’s for sure.  People sent flowers, but they were the wrong kinds, hospital flowers that smelled like bleach and false hope.   I read you the card your math teacher sent; if you had been there you would have laughed. ks
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Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
coffee eyes and hospital flowers
He stared at me like I was a painting.  He was a boy with eyes like creamed coffee and he could always find the big dipper.  When he spoke you listened even if it wasn’t often.  Lonely and lovely.  He spent a lot of time watching the stars, but often when he was tracing constellations with his piano fingers I was watching his shaky hands instead of the sky.  Piano fingers.  Once he played piano for me and I swear for a moment gravity had reversed and he returned to his real home in the stars.  He never slept, said he liked the way the air outside felt at night but I think he just couldn’t stand being in a home that wasn’t really a home anymore, he found more acceptance on the poorly lit asphalt than in the confines of his own house.  But soon the poorly lit roads and my stumbling words weren’t enough to fill the cemetery growing inside him anymore and he found his Mom’s painkillers.  Two little white pills wrapped in piano fingers to numb.  Soon three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Too numb.  Blood on the floor.  The exhausted glow of streetlights was replaced with the exhausted glow of a hospital light.  I told the doctors if only you could see the stars I swear you would be okay and I kicked and screamed as they dragged me out.  Soon your creamed coffee eyes turned bitter.  You no longer traced constellations in the sky but scratched sadness in your skin.  You managed to get out of your imposter of a home that’s for sure.  People sent flowers, but they were the wrong kinds, hospital flowers that smelled like bleach and false hope.   I read you the card your math teacher sent; if you had been there you would have laughed. ks
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I thought I had ****** all the demons out when I kissed your neck but they hid in the crevices I couldn't reach and when you began to crawl out of bed at the earliest hours of the morning to sit outside with eyes that played dead I reminded myself not to groan "stay" but instead whisper "come back" and leave out a cup of your favorite tea for when the demons had left and when you finally fall asleep I try to remember that untangling the knots in your hair won't fix the tangles inside you
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Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
A Guide to Your Depressed Lover
when I was seven years old my family started going to a Christian church and all I thought about was how the pews that we sat in would have done more for God as trees and they said to love our neighbors because God wanted us to love our neighbors but I love my neighbor because his windows are lit up at 4 AM a time when only the miserable are concious and yet he always smiles at the postman when I was thirteen years old I visited a Buddhist temple with my friend she showed me how to meditate but sitting so still made my skin crawl and she told me about karma but I wasn't sure what it was that my little sister did to get bad enough karma to die at nine years old she only ever left out granola bar wrappers and sometimes forgot to say "thank you" but karma sent her a drunk driver I never understood religion the only temple I ever felt at home in was the hand of my lover and I never felt the presence of God but I felt the anguish of my postman as my neighbor began to lose that light in his eyes and I may have never read the bible but I've run my fingers across a thousand trees and they guide me when I am lost I never beleived in a higher power but I believe in my sister who used to pick at threads on her church dress and to my mothers dismay ruffled up her perfectly curly hair no God would **** her
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Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
The Postman Came To Her Funeral
I want to be there when it's 4 AM and your chest can no longer withstand the weight of the demons that no one else can see and you can no longer push them back long enough to breathe and the exhales smell of ***** and misery when your very own fingernails betray your palms with blood that looks like it's not even your own I will bandage your hands and hold them gently until the demons leave and when you are afraid of your own reflection I will hide all the mirrors and sit by your side with the lights off and run my fingers through your hair as if untangling your hair could untangle the knots you have inside I will wait for you I will not groan when it's three in the morning and you stumble out of bed to go sit under the streetlight in the rain and I will wait inside with tea in your favorite mug when you say you must go alone when your eyes are vacant; a winter house with no footprints in the snow and newspapers piling up in the driveway the lights left on to scare away intruders I will be there when you come back I just need to know you'll come back
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Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
newspapers in the driveway
someone once told me there are more stars than grains of sand I think about that a lot once when I was young I tried to count all the sand on the beach I gave up at 72 last night I tried to count all the stars I gave up when they were no longer stars but instead the freckles in your irises I gave up at 2 someone once told me there are more atoms in a human than there are stars when I met you I began counting your atoms and even when I've counted all the ones between your fingers and behind your ears and in your ribcage I won't give up on you
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Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
more stars than sand
I hope you still watch the sunset without me [delete] I hope you still remember to take your meds without me [delete] I know you're colorblind and the bracelet I made you just looked black and white but you said it was beautiful anyways [delete] I bet no one names constellations for you anymore [delete] I still love you [delete] the bottle of ***** above my kitchen sink is calling my name and you're no longer here to silence it [delete] can you comeee findr me? Im drunk on your roaad and I neerd youi [delete] I haven't brushed my hair since we last spoke, maybe your last "I love you" is still tangled in there [delete] sometimes I tell people about you and they tell me how horrible you are but I still itch to tell them about the stars in your eyes [delete] my mother washed my sheets and they don't smell like you anymore, I can't sleep [delete] I hope even though we don't talk anymore that you notice how bad my dark circles have gotten [delete] when you tried to talk to me last week I felt like throwing up [delete] I hope you feel guilty [delete] it's like drowning but I just won't ******* die [delete] I've met someone new but I can't even try with him because of you [delete] I will never trust again because of you [delete] I don't want to breathe anymore [delete]
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Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
17 texts I almost sent you