winter

winter Nov 2022

Untitled

the end of the universe visits me each night and whispers the consequence of sleep
the dark, like a blanket, drapes itself over
the ashes of all we grieve
this bed where i lay, once soft and serene now threatens a place to be burried
consciousness drifts as i draw my last breathe, and what's left is this thriftless worry
i'd like to wake up, and i'd like to live on
but the end of time each day comes
i wish i could've saved all those who are gone
but the pain eventually numbs

winter Oct 2022

premonition

little room in new york
on a high floor
over looking these lights
this all came to me
in the form of many dreams
i can sense it
the end, an end
something sublime
the terror-ous kind
draws near

winter Oct 2022

a deer

a deer, alone
youre a lot like me

this is the only way i can be

under the moon,
nothing to show for myself
looking in the grass for something,
stalked and unsuspecting

there are days when i'm afraid of dying but not afraid of death
there are days when i'm afraid of death but not afraid of dying
never both never neither

this is how i'll be forever

winter Oct 2022

pursuit

It is taking every piece of strength within me to keep pursuing my business on earth.
If I found it in me to want to keep trying, the Earth will find a way to swallow me, still.
Either way, it seems, I will always have unfinished business.
Is it more tragic then, to take things into my own hands, or moreso for wanting to live and then being struck by unhappy fate in the midst of my work?
And do I pursue tragedy?
Yes. I do.
So here I am, mustering all the will I can to keep trudging.
So we shall see how far I can tread this path.

winter Oct 2022

There is no light

There is no light,
I tried to find it.
Every day I spared my consciousness,
I searched and scavenged
to no avail.
There was only grey,
and it so happened,
that the brightest day
was the darkest of all.
The light of august
fated to fall
the minute morning came
so mourning goes
and all thereafter tarnished.

#light #dark #death #mourning #grey

winter Sep 2022

debt

I found a song that you would like. I still have conversations with you in my head- things I've done recently that are cool, minor accomplishments, my first meeting as a dramaturg, projects I'm working on... Your absence is heavy, especially in these moments.

Pulmonary Embolism.
You look pretty close to a suicide.
I am so envious of the long death,
the kind that inches you away with each breath.

Sudden death is so strange. Especially when you were raised with death on your mind at all times. You live each day with the full understanding that it may be your last, it may be your brother's last, your sister's, your mother's, father's. I've spent my whole life dedicated to understanding and accepting death. And I had, in fact, understood and accepted death.
And yet, when the cord snaps, when the body collapses right in front of you, struggling, trying to recover like it's any other day, and it turns out that it really is any other day, because death is always possible, and that's how death strikes- something changes inside of you, something that wants to turn your reasons and morbid obsessions into disbelief and anger. You wish you didn't understand it. You wish that understanding it would at least help you figure out how to deal.
Nothing is earned, nothing is gained. No new insight. No added perspective.
That's why they call it a loss. You only lose, and lose and lose, until you end up wondering what you even have left, and what parts of you are still there, underneath the rubble.

I want to be able to keep your belongings, but I'm unable to, because I don't have a place to put them, because the only place I had to put them was your home, which is no longer your home, which is no longer mine.

So we surrender your poetry
and reduce you to debt.

winter Sep 2022

horror bathroom ("to and fro")

The horror streaks down from the bathroom walls &
Into the basement where we’d lay for the following weeks
I could not get the smell out of my brain,
Eucalyptus and spearmint and
The bloating pieces of your body soaking up the leaky sink
Skin beginning to soften and swell and bruise
The staircase leads me to a room of shadow
Where every other crevice hides a little spider
Who is too shy to crawl about and too sad to spin its web
I can’t stop seeing it reliving it there are no
Metaphors to capture this grief

There is no time, either

So with an hour two I have to pack my life away
And if it can’t fit into this backpack, it might as well
Have never mattered, or existed at all
It’s like they’re beating it into my head,
“She’s dead, she’s dead”
I leave the house with an empty bag
She’s dead, she’s dead

My grandmother’s guest room, my father’s guest room
I can’t get the decency of a living room couch
But it doesn’t matter, if I’m not alone
Maybe I am alone
I’m the only one in this room
What the ****
What the **** is poetry when you’re dead

So we’re getting up again, pulling some clothes from my bag
Don’t need these pants, don’t need that shirt,
I have enough socks to last
I don’t need anything that I can’t fit underneath the seat
On the airplane back to New York
So we’re going again
Let’s just go.
It’s another day at this point.

But am I on the plane or am I
Back in the kitchen
Watching her spurt her poisonous spit all over the hardwood
Violent spasms and slams and ****** fluids flushing in large,
Bellowing waves, struggling to find any shore
I am so far away from everyone that I know
The plane lands
I find my next gate

There are songs I’ve loved all my life
That I’ve tried to apply many meanings to
Something I could imagine and manifest
And sing and sing and dream and
Lie awake wondering if I could ever be
In their position, even as I lie
Feeling the exact same thing
Through the music, I feel everything
Completely, for the first time
Now that I am old,
The tune is merely familiar
It is the air that I breathe
The cause for my sobs and terrors
The creation of my sorrow heart’s tomb
Has become my morning coffee
The taste a bit bitter, the cup a bit small
Nothing that couldn’t be fixed
By a bit of cream

Another plane lands
I realize I’ve lost my luggage,
Send a text to my dad
Who believes this has everything to do
With my plan to pay off student loans
Or more so, that I might have the audacity
Of asking him to buy me a meal, every now and then.
It’s alright, that wasn’t part of the contract
I feel silly for forgetting
My phone battery dies, and the screen goes blank

I am a ghost to everyone
Can’t you feel me slipping away?

Everyone that I’ve known
I could be gone to them forever

I arrive in New York
I make it home
But I know better, I know what happens next
I haven’t slept in weeks but I’m in a dream
I’m in New York, but I’m in the bathroom
Watching the ooze,
Smelling the gore
All the different ways a set of fingers can twitch
Before they lose their ***** and stop forever
Blonde hair on the floor
Cold, hard skin
Softening once again, in the pools of this memory
I can’t escape you, I can’t find the exit
The doors to this house are all imaginary
It’s been so long
Time hasn’t passed at all

But I am in New York,
Somehow

That’s right, I remember it now.
I learned my lesson, I’ve done it all before
This memory is going to stay
But I am the one to leave
Over and over
And over
It’s gonna be this way forever, I’m sure

There isn’t a way to avoid it,
Go around or under it
You just have to leave
You just have to keep leaving

So I enter the doorway
Get dinner
I sleep on the bare mattress,
I don’t ever,
ever,
unpack my bags.