This motel's coffee is weak
Even after the 8th cup
Trying to shake off the storms
Thundering in my head
Like too many days
When I haven't felt a reason to be
Out on open roads
I promised to write a letter
To you every day
That these wheels have been rolling
But you've forgotten all the curves to my script

Because it's been too long
Since my pen has scriven
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

Another day and another night
Passes by on the road to another town
And I can't keep track
Of where I was
And who I'm finding myself to become
I call you up from a pay phone
On the corner of loneliness and nowhere
But when you answer
I can't find my voice
And there's a silence that hangs deadly in the air
As you ask is anyone there
I know you know it's me
But you play along like a stranger
Dialing the wrong number
And maybe I'm just a stranger to you anyway now

Because it's been too long
Since I have called
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

This place looks familiarly foreign
Rundown warehouses and farmland
That time left buried deep in a past
That's become more of a dream
Than some old reality
I look around to find the same memories
Playing from the viewpoint of an outsider

Because it's been too long
Since I've been home
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

These tires have lost their tread
On the long driveway
To a house I once called home
That I shared once upon a time
With a woman I loved
I see the embrace waiting for me
Behind that dark oak front door
If I could find the courage
To leave this car
And put the key into the lock
With a twist of the ****
I wonder if I'd still find you
There waiting for me

Because it's been too long
Since I have held you in my arms
And it's been too long
Since I've kept any promises

Because it's been too long
And all my promises are gone

these long lines of me
have begun to curl
and split
along small vulnerable points
-separating-
till i stand blank as bone

.. but then you too peel away your palimpsest

new page
new tone
driven by us

a place where my alone is not read into
where your sidelong gaze allows for this core ruin of mine
to be unknown and unknowable

scribbled sick blue skies
gray clouds somersault and lick
eater of hue
it cannot be deleted it cannot be scried  

this is the waste we do not wait around for to be fixed
it is a space where margins are let in

as is

and i no longer feel written down

i chase the poem
until my words become true

recalling all of your lines
tangling mine

serifs
torque

we crush on hurt skies and eat our own inners alive. we r, yuh know, killing it right now. right?? idk lately i jus don't feel like my me anymore. it's weird. these bones of mine will hafta do i guess, and this alone too. but this tear is torn --- i mean, it tickles my nose and brims but doesn't wanna fall, and i think it's made of scars found at the bottom of the pool. and these knees held to my chest are like two pipe cleaner harpoons, rocking me to sleep when i've clearly already slept too much.. listen, all of this will be spelled out -- but not fer u. they are for her and her word alone. i've heard that if listened to - i mean REALLY listened to - it is able to world forth this one last single curl that i've long been searching for in this dim lit corner of the room, which is a rune, marked, startled, summoned by someone somewhere close by, like a muffled noise upstairs making its way down here to stay.

i confess it's true i'm flesh not god i'm prolly the tip of "icebergs ahead!" that you totally don't listen to because yer too cool, but little did u know below rows of punctual shark teeth divvy up the righteous like pew pew pew, sans the zombie ******* and the holy ghoul to throw you a rope of c

i don't have anything to say. not really. how can i when my own bones feel like strangers that pilfered a body when nobody was looking? when i speak, small echoes of some one else kindly pull at my fingertips, slipping under the nail and past the cuticle where it unfolds like sad gods found to be made of origami swimming in a sea of memes. it hurts like hell. and so, i've come to know silence. it holds me. brand new shell. my process, felt.

that moment when
you haven't smoked in a long time
and then you do and
you remember oh ya
this is what it feels like to actually feel again

start
wars,
we should not

box that used to house magic
now you are jus an awkward corpse
that won't lie down

old bony black ear encased in steel and window
you once were a god
with your promises and movies and whatnot

it must be lonely
now fading
graffitied  
or does it feel like bliss
to no longer hear all the feels of mere mortals