I’ve been scared of shadows and tall things in the night. Of speaking and of silence. Of all things profound and real—of everything that happens when we blink. “Put faith in the lord!” My grandma will remind me. “Let the divine protect you,” in between each molecule of madness, anti matter, and what not (I’ve never been good with science-y things despite my strong inclination [obsession] with medicine, and two chemists for parents).

I’m having those thoughts again. No! Not those thoughts. Just my mind has lost its brief aversion to all things angsty. My girlfriends have been bringing me tea and things of that nature. Blowing me kisses and letting me indulge in the fine art of the “melodrama.”

I think of love and what it takes. Perhaps it’s a convergence of the snake shedding of the exterior and a little spooky action at a distance. (Again! Please forgive me for my complete and utter lack of knowledge in these matters).

Or maybe love is purely the snake skin. Is my latter theory duller or more exciting than the former? “Find out next time on…”

Forgive me. I kid.

Is this a joking matter?

Remains to be seen.

When I think of love I think of all the priests in my life. Metaphorically, of course. You know I pray every night and all but I’m not like tight or anything with any priests. I think of the men I turn to for Judgement. “Father let me repent. Let me tell you all that is wrong with me and let me be your little mouse anyways!”

As I write, I wonder if that’s all it is. I will build up my world in a million ways all in six days, but let me have the seventh. Just build me a little cotton ball bed. Rest your thumb on my third eye. And call me your little mouse one more time?

If I ever lost you,
I wonder if these buildings would begin to scare me too
If I’ll have to breathe when there’s no breaths left in me
If I’ll have to lose my way, my mind, a few more times before learning it’ll all be alright
I love you for every misunderstood understanding
And I’ll love you when nothing feels right

October is the whisper I left in your hair,
The slow train that took my breath and took me home.
Our jaded arms and twisted tongues
Mumbling something just senseless enough
To prove some sort of makeshift love.
Prior days are gone although I seem to forget.
Makes me think of mossy eyes and suits with ties.

She watched as a couple of gingersnap-colored cats darted across the road- their eyes on the prize of one particular patch of sun residing on the driveway of a neighboring home. It has been a long time since she has felt so strongly about anyone other than herself. She crossed the street to follow them, checking the desolate road with an abundance of caution as if to say "Look at me! Look at me! I care so much about my life. So much. So so much!" Although who she was shouting this at is unclear. By the time she reached a pet-able distance from the cats they had already risen from their spot and darted under a nearby wire fence. Now so far out of reach of her hands. She tucked her bony fingers away back into her sandpaper pockets and continued walking.

    I wouldn't say I want to die anymore. In fact, more and more it seems I am becoming an ambassador of life. I quit smoking a couple months ago and I'm a stickler about speeding now. I used to find it corny when people preached focusing on the simple joys of life but I guess there is some truth to that sentiment. I feel better. I do. But a part of me is still rotting- I can feel it. I feel it now, standing by the tracks where my dad and I used to melt pennies. I do not want to die but some form of magnetic tar stuck inside me creates an unspeakable pull for me to go lay down on these tracks. I won't do it though. And that's what is really interesting about all of this. I never do it. I miss my dad. I really do. But something about being back here in this town, staying in my childhood home, I feel really close to him again. Now a new thought comes to life: The only place closer to him than where I am now is death itself. The sound of the train grows louder. Louder. And some{thing} urges me to stay.

“It occurs to me that I really can't remember your face in any precise detail. Only the way you walked away through the tables in the café, your figure, your dress, that I still see.”
And I can’t say it much better than that. Except it wasn’t a dress but, in fact, a cotton tee. Not the tables but the way the streetlight bounced off your jaw. I don’t remember your voice anymore or even the words you gave me. I can only dig my fingers deeply into the body of your laugh.

All fair things are rotten inside
Infused grey bits of debris collide
Graceful wings waltz, their charm has ended
Into a wreckage of all things splendid

I've consumed all of your dark matter
Studying every piece of phantom amber  
In those remnants, I feel a hush
Like echoes from a decanter's rush

At times I do not trust my mind
My thoughts are often mixed with wine
I wonder: "what if I die?"
You tell me: "what if you don't."

"You're mine, you!" whispers in the back of the room. A subtle reminder that I don't think you'll ever leave. You're weird. You're broken. You're everything I am. You're everything I could never be.

When my Dad asks me about my day, or lays out plates like I'm still a little kid. I dream about dull days. Those stupid ruts we couldn't shake. You're mine, you.

It's just the flickering lights. Not your eyes. Not the bitter taste of your white tongue. My ****** gums. The ache of waiting. Of running but never making it. Always looking for the silver lining of your glasses on my nightstand. My crooked nose. Gentle reminders that you'll never leave. Warm and carmine reminders that you will never leave.

My heart should be well-schooled. Because you know I've been fooled in the past. But it's always beating just too late for love to last. "Your hair looks like champagne under this lamp." Do you remember how hard that made you laugh?

That one night we cracked the window, just to let the smoke fly out. I remember thinking "it'll go further than we ever will." As the trumpets began to sing, your bony little fingers started reaching at the stars. It's funny it's not the stars I see, it's always you.

But we'll carry on. We'll carry on. After all, I know there could never be another you.