Maybe the golden rings of disabling
The drip of muffled unorganized thought
Scattering through rooms
Will inevitably disappear
Allowing the graceless act
Shuffling our feet on abandoned low tides
Peaking at each rising moon

Somehow hope gives weight
To the rationality that nostalgia will re root itself in present where the slip of fragmented parrallels will reverse
And I will get my body back

I just want to hold you
I don’t want your hands to tender each
Purple sore even more
I just want the pulsing to stop
And drag your body back down
To the hard wood floor.

Pluck.
The string get’s pulled away, the tension feels tighter, the pressure builds and it stays. The release of the note never fills my ears, the vibrating motion of the string being released from my fingers and hitting the band of the instrument never touches my finder tips. It stays, tense, hard wired, pulling, cutting off circulation.
I take a deep inhale.
I take another pill.
I let his hand slide down my back. I don’t tell him that every touch stings, shocks, slowly slices through my skin as the blades dig deeper and deeper.
I don’t want him to think that he his causing the pain.
I hold.
I wait.
I roll.
I wail.
I wait.
The fluorescent lights sting sharper than his hands did
The monotone typing of the keyboard while they input symptoms.
‘i’m sorry. there isn’t anything we can do for you.'
to going back to rolling
wailing
waiting.
the string grows tighter
the band slices through me
as the fog rolls in the
the perpetual motions
where I plateau
and he is here
sharply pressing his weight
until I can hold my breath long enough to stand up
to slip my clothes on
to walk out the door
pretend the sting doesn’t bother me anymore.

Let’s just stand here, **** on these hard lemon candies and watch the evergreens turn to ash.
once stone etched
Molded by the cascading
ever flowing
torment of a river
that had sprung a leak
Millions of years ago
Now man made, clad iron.

I don’t know you.
I don’t love you.
I’m angry with you.
I’m uncomfortable around you.

We stand hand in hand
The ash engulfs each lung
As if our cells had prepared for the event
We keep breathing

Dim lights of the train receding  
I ask you my insecurities
You muffle your ignorance
Displeasure

turning
Looking at you, as you are
A sore in my
Psychiatric dismantling
The one time
I forgot
We existed after
The ones we love
Disappear

I can see my life with you
the way we bicker
twenty years from now
you scrunch your nose
eventually the argument subsides
and you pull me into your chest, brush the hair out of my face
and tell me you love me
the same way you tell me now
as if this way of loving someone
is so profound
new to you
the look of shock
admiration
devours your eyes  
each time the words
come out of your mouth

So I’m six feet under or I’m twelve feet above and there really is no in-between, the pendulum of projection but my heart is racing and it’s ten pm and the pavement feels safe, unrequited, like you are not here and i am not here and it all makes sense but it really doesn't because most of my days are spent rationalizing my existence to myself on this repetitive loop but then I feel something like love. I feel something like adrenaline. I feel something like, I’m hungry but I want a body pressed against me and I want to hear you say all the right things but I also want it to be quiet and peaceful and I want everyone I have ever loved to be on this bed with us holding me and saying all the same things too but I also want to be completely alone and stuck in my head creating something magical and once Im alone all I want is to eat an entire burrito but also climb a mountain and feel the fresh air on my skin and your hand in mine and how do I enunciate all of that when I feel like it is literally leaking out of my chest, my elbows, my knees and then there are these flashes of the one time someone died and all I hear is the gunshot, the thirty seconds between their final breath and the pavement but I also think about the time i ran down the beach naked and they just stood there and giggled, looking at me like the entire world was mine and how lucky they were to witness such a moment and I think about how lucky I was to live in such a moment and ******* I want to be able to rip it to shreds, eat it like a pomegranate or a mango or something that is sticky and messy and the flavor just stays on you for days no matter how many showers you take. I feel the way the bark felt on my barefeet when I used to scale trees and climb so high the tops of the tree’s would not be able to hold my weight  fully and they would kind of tilt and I almost died so many times but i didn’t and the one time i tried, i really, really tried it made me so ******* numb and I still feel that numb a lot until they love me or they leave me or I drive really fast or I chug the bottles i am absolutely not supposed to chug or I stand on stage and I tell my story over and over again and I feel like the entire audience is there with me in the moments I have lived and they are holding their breaths like I was holding my breath for hours and hours and then days and then years and when the story ends they get to breathe a sigh of relief and for a second i get to too you know?