We went our separate ways half a year ago now, and it's funny that today my brain stopped on you.
I'm wondering how your mom is, how your brother is. I'm wondering if the alcohol has finally swept away the last good bits of you with its bitter bite and all of the things I saw in you have drowned in the wretched agony of the depression you refused help for.
I would say that I have prayed for you, but I think God even knows that's wasted on both of us. That's a lie anyway. I didn't pray. I stopped and thought of you twice until today.
I just wish I could have had the apathy you desired, that maybe you could have basked in it for long enough to feel better. I wish that I hadn't started needing you like I did, that your voice didn't bring justification to my long, lonely days.
I wish that the insane amount of love that I had for you could have glued the parts of you that were worth fixing back together, could have dug the alcoholic a new grave and brought back who you were before the bottled ***** betrayed you.
Betrayal is what you're into, I guess. I see it now a little more clearly than I did then.
Just know, I don't wish you poorly when I say I  wish you the best.

Rekindling old flames and lighting half gone cigarettes is what I'm known for.
It never is quite the same, really. The taste is all but gone, the flint gone from the match before you can even strike it. The taste of you is just a bitter reminder, like kicking that habit for good and taking the first drag off a cigarette in six months.
Then I started over.
There's a difference really from starting an entirely new fire and trying to relight pieces of charred and half burned pine that got rained on. One will burn bright for a minute and fizzle out. The other will burn a lifetime.
That last drag on a new cigarette never tasted more like addiction.

i am every girl tonight,
lost amongst ***** bed sheets
& the like. we grow
in seasons, hoping
that the world hasn’t left us behind
just yet.

i am every woman tonight.
trembling alone in an empty room,
the sullen lamp
with it’s uneven lamp shade
declaring the secrets of
my empty being. i see us
faraway now, maybe next
to an ocean,
this crippled earth balancing
on her stone axis,
always in motion.
to dream of you here
is better than death.

i am every lover tonight,
the simple confessions of love
not enough anymore.
& always you, your pick in hand,
chipping away more by day
at such an enamel heart
as mine. Even the words
aren’t enough anymore,
& maybe they never will be.

i am every dreamer tonight.
the clock moves us forward
without our say at all.
i might be someone
you knew once before,
hanging bravely from a museum wall,
light years from where we
are now. My skin composed
of the richest oils,
you reached out, fingertips
to thick smudges & precise curves,
a believer in who i was.
an onlooker, just passing by
on his way
some where better.

i am every girl tonight.
calling for you to come back
to my arms, only knowing
i’ll find sleep alone again.
& can you feel me? i say
when i really do wonder sometimes.
such fair skin, ******* exposed
for no one but this ashtray
with too many secrets to tell.
each sentence forever unfinished.
exposed for no one
but my own reflection.

*All Rights Reserved © Brixton Bell
brixtonbell.com

Who will mend this broken chair
This useless one just standing there
Waiting for a drop of glue
Who will mend it, if not you?

Then take this lonesome broken heart
Can you fathom where to start
Who can make it beat anew
Who can mend it, if not you?

my flowers are about to die
now the sun is falling later
& i’m getting
everybody high
because
everybody wants
to get high.

april comes fast, every single year.
there are always distractions.
i need a certain kind of fuel to start
the flame inside my being.

my words are a sort of music
which hold their own without
a melody or tune to hum:

exhale & your world is enveloped in color. our scars match up like we’re in unison together. my refrain is tired. chorus outstretched. she’s waiting for something worth waiting for ;

tie my bones together with piano wire.

*brixtonbell.com