It’s a little ****** up,

every time I get into my car

my impulsive desire is to drive

to you, wherever you are.

That every time I pick up my phone,

my hands try to dial your number at the tone.

That every breath I take

my senses miss your scent

and every mistake I ever made

haunts me with our end.
Also,

It’s a little ****** up how much I still love you.

Roller Coaster
Sparrow
Paper Bag
Picture
Diver
Market
Elephant

Roller Coaster: This won't be the typical mention of a roller coaster, about the ups and downs. But rather the fear I felt on the line for the ride and the reassurance I was handed by my companion and how I wish to feel that safety in words again.

Sparrow: I carried a baby bird to healing 4 years ago with a broken wing. But today I was asked for help with another and I could not have cared any less. I don't know if that's because I've "come to my senses" or just lost hope in flight.

Paper Bag: sound of ripping paper in half pause This is what I really heard when you told me you're doing well, without me.

Picture: I never did know what I'd find to do with this picture of a house, that I found in a house, that used to be my house... I'll just use it to say "house", because "home" is a word I don't know what to do with.

Diver: You are a cliff diver.
You take that leap of faith.
Your safety fails you.
Your back up fails you.

Really close your eyes.
Grasp the horror.
The betrayal.
The eventual impact of landing.


Thanks, mom.

Market: Remember when we had to wash our hands after every trip to the super market to avoid germs? What did we do to avoid what really infected us? What did you teach me to keep this sickness from creeping into my chest and eating me alive from the inside out? No preventative measures were taken against the most terminal illness that I could have picked up in any market, in any lifetime. So this is me, begging for a cure, and for the medicine I seem to have missed too many doses of.

Elephant: So... How's that for an elephant in the room?

I can make no noise but the scratching of pen to paper now.
And when I try to display the pieces of my heart,
they only find their way up into my throat.
Next to whiskey burns to ease "hello"'s
and "goodbye"'s I've waited too long to give.
Next to the "no, thank you"'s that were ignored,
and the thrusts of strange men that I missed you during.
Next to the laughs I've faked
at jokes that reminded me that you never liked my sense of humor.
And next to the cracks in my voice,
when the song that made me miss you before you were gone came on the radio,
but I still sang along.
And I'm sorry that "stuck in my throat" isn't loud enough to tell you
that I'm sorry that I was never enough.

The cold kept us inside
the police declared a state of emergency
but for us it was a state of emergence
we filled our veins with alcohol to keep warm
and lit fires in each other for days
burning through what brought us together in the first place
we said our love would remain solid once the ice melted away
and ventured into the bright blinding blanket of white
feeling like we were even brighter
feeling lighter
but when the plows cleared our paths  back home
I took another
and somehow ended up back in the cold
alone
so I lit a fire
poured myself a drink
found myself mixing liquor with blood in the sink
a makeshift blanket with every drop screaming back at me
DON'T YOU THINK?
DON'T YOU THINK?
DON'T YOU EVER ******* THINK?!
A carefully crafted cocktail of doubt and DNA down the drain like the melted storm
but I finally felt warm while alone
Emerging, raining,
Saying "I am fluid
and I am coming home"

I want to be close enough to hear the ringing in your ears, but if you heard the ringing in mine would you even pick up the phone?
Because your conscience is clear and as long as your secret can keep a secret, your eyes are too empty for anyone to tell.
But I know that to tell how someone is loving you've got to look into their "I"'s.
Ask them if snowflakes think they're falling or flying? The same way I've plummeted into you while I somehow imagined I was still the pilot.
Ask if the clouds aim to protect the earth from the light or the sun from the darkness on earth?
Because love isn't blind, love is a blindfold.
It's a blanket when you weren't cold, recognizing his tire in the road.
And I've never been good at lingual warfare,
but I have a feeling soon I'll be using my grey hairs
as a form of punctuation
in a fruitless explanation-to myself
that the way you touch me isn't a 'waist' of time.
And as long as you keep calling, I will answer to the ringing in my ears.

Junkyards are cemeteries too
they're just the ones no one brings flowers to
or visits after they've said goodbye
and they are filled to the brim
with forgotten wheels and empty bodies
and I am sick of these wheelbarrow operations
and the way the mice eyes sparkle
as they wait by the mailboxes
that don't even belong to them
for love letters from the cats that will never come
because when she said "I love you"
it was a junkyard kind of goodbye that she meant

And for my next trick
I'll vanish with no trace
not quite by magic
they'll still see my face
leave my body behind
defy time and space
take my soul and my mind
so they don't go to waste
a new bringer of light
will inherit my fate
to meet constant fear
disregard and disgrace
as darkness grows near
I am leaving this place
and to all it is clear
I will not be replaced