any holiday can go on and commit suicide in some old ****
coconut
postcard, I reckon.
it’s alrite here.
it’s not burning and the sand is a lame type of concrete, but
it has a lot of life. there’s even coral here, I probably need you
to call me up and have you explain it to me
but it’s here
all the same;
there’s howling monkeys that can open yoking orange suns, that
don’t know what to do, we wont ignore them though;
they keep on skipping around
pulling
the tide up to our seats-like they like the raw smell we give off
its normal in the city but unknown here
we fight- nothing
the world dives into itself
and see’s that it still sings
the resort keeps on beating behind the eyes of the falling sunset
the calls of our skin are catnip to the flying things and moving things
we walk across the beach as it follows from 11 to 3 and 4am.
it dies and leaves the moon screaming
in sirens within the black distance of the shore
the vehicle that comes as we sleep
holds open the road with our eyes
and remains eternally as we wake.

i heard once on the playground that the human heart
is about the size of it's owner's fist;
that day i spent my whole afternoon
gathering handfuls of earth within the
palms of my hands just to see
how much i could hold, as if that could show me
how much i was capable of loving, but dirt
slipped through my fingers when i loosened my
grip, and i was scared that people were the same
(even at eight, i knew that sometimes the only reason
people stayed was because you held them too tight,
and if midnight provided a last-minute flight
they wouldn't hesitate to catch it because holding on
was harder than running away).
later on, i tried to catch people like fish,
reeling them in and then leaving them on a hook
because when i held them at a distance they were
pretty to look at and i could feel their heat, but when i
clutched them close to my chest, underneath my line of
sight, it was much easier for them to
break and hide.  that all changed when i met
you though; i disabled all my traps and
reached out to you with bare fingers, telling myself
if i could hide you between my hands then
maybe you wouldn't mind hiding in my heart.
i started out timid, grasping handfuls of your
shirt and the way your laugh sounded when it was
me that caused it, and sometimes at night
when i pretended you were there with me, i would
reach out for you, but daylight was different
and i've always had small hands

(i realized it was never about taking your heart when you
reached for my hand and held it like it was your favourite secret
you couldn't keep any longer; it was about letting you have mine)

i can't break fear
when it's being
built into
me

nothing is more violent than
love, but i would reconstruct
mountains just to have another
chance to break them down
again with you

it was so dark that i couldn't see
his hand slip into mine, and i was numb enough
by the end of the night that my head didn't realize
what it meant when he reached under my skirt;
for the first time in a long time i felt something,
even if it was only skin against bone
(i had already known i was
a skeleton of what i used to be)  

later, another boy came along
and kissed my bruises away
(ones i didn't even know i had until
they were gone, but i felt them like
phantom limbs when he had to leave)
and every time his fingers touched
mine i felt it deep in my chest, like a
kick-drum pounding over and over again
                (i thought maybe love like that could never end,

but really, he was just another dream waiting
to become a nightmare)

it started with the
collapsing, or the almost-
collapsing and sprinting to
catch her and
something about a
brain tumor and wanting to
screamscream scream
but not being able to
because i have to be
the strong one now.
she could still hardly
walk when she
said that she wanted to
look at the
stars, so
i said no. i said
you’ll fall.
she looked at
me like i had
just rearranged her
entire universe
and said, more with
her eyes than with
her mouth, that
i wouldn’t let her.

The sirens file around these walls.
Emptiness and darkness began to look the same.
Walls start to blur and fade away.
And suddenly I’m back at the scene of the crime.
But is this really where I want to be?
Do I need a real explanation?
Please tell me where I need to be.
Are you really here beside me?
It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been waiting, but it is the worst I’ve ever had.
It’s not like I can’t live without you, because I certainly can.
Why does everyone keep looking down on me?
Why is everything stopping?
And why do you keep leaving when you know I can’t breathe?
It's almost like you *know.

i just want to sit and be
still with you, but
my heart never slows
when you're around and
i always end up searching
dead ends for what words
to use next

(my fingers still shake at the
mention of your name)