It is 7.30 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together like days of the week, normalcy perspiring in the air behind us.
It is 7.31 and I am still thinking about your cheekbones, collarbones, hipbones. I am still thinking about your bones. You haven't returned my phone calls in a week.
It is 7.32 and I am still thinking about forest fires.
It is 7.33 and I am still thinking about clocks ticking and how it's kind of funny how we are always counting the days we have left, instead of the days we have.
It is 7.34 and I am still thinking about how my apologies never really cut it.
It is 7.35 and I am sorry.
It is 7.36 and I wonder how hard it is to tie a noose.
It is 7.37 and I am still thinking about the normal length of a pause when you're telling someone you love them, too.
It is 7.38 and I love you, too.
It is 7.39 and I am still trying not to think about how loud the doorbell echoes in the entrance hall now.
It is 7.40 and I am still thinking about the absence of stairways.
It is 7.41 and I am still thinking about hunger pains and alleyways and the warmth of your hand on my spine.
It is 7.42 and there are some things you can't say to other people but holy ****, I miss you.
It is 7.43 and I'm sorry again.
It is 7.44 and I am still thinking about short hands on clocks.
It is 7.45 and I am still imagining footfalls landing heavy on the carpet outside my bedroom and trying not to hope they're yours.
It is 7.46 and I hope they're yours.
It is 7.47 and I am still thinking about the glass in my ribcage digging in harder than your fingernails ever could.
It is 7.48 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together.
It is 7.49 and I'm sorry again.

everyone keeps saying "we made it"
and it's actually a little confusing
because it's almost like they thought we couldn't
five teenagers on lockdown have never caused so much panic but I guess we're just
the deadbeat generation
(knock once for failure, twice for rebirth, three times to see your life in twenty years-
who knows, maybe you'll have a life in twenty years)
we pick locks on bad days turn back the clocks on good days
if we try hard enough maybe we'll go back to the glory days I wanna blast music from the busted up speakers
in the back of my car I wanna live like I used to
we're anthems and parades and kids crying out in the middle of the night when the hole in their stomach opens up
or closes
we're caught up in a whirlwind of scientific facts and figures and sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs
as if that'll help me escape the noise in my head
punk isn't about living through the fall of something it's about living through the rise of me
I am real I am here I will scream it from the ******* rooftops if I have to
I will tap my fingertips on tables even when I'm told not to
I will tattoo myself a thousand times over, an endless mantra of existence
i exist i exist i exist
this isn't a happy ending, or at least it isn't the one I was promised
but it's something
it's okay
and that's good enough because okay is ******* wonderful
lace my fingers with yours call me a queen tell me you'll never let me go because I will never let you go
we are the kids who will never stop living
even when they tell us that we are impossible we are heartbeats pounding on cracked pavement,
leather and cheap beer, lather me in love lay me down to sleep
with the promise of tomorrow
promise me that tomorrow will still be there when I wake up
you can have a house but not a home
I was a house but not a home until I met you
deadbeat degenerates make a better family than most.

WHEN I SLEEP ALL I SEE IS YOUR ******* FACE
IT'S BEEN THREE YEARS AND YOU STILL WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE
YOU'RE BARELY A VAPOR BUT I STILL HEAR YOUR VOICE IN MY HEAD STOP TEMPTING ME TO JUMP OFF YOUR CLIFF
THE TRUTH AND I SHARE A WATERY GRAVE AND I DON'T WANT TO FACE MY OWN FUTURE
MY HEARTBEAT HAS FLUCTUATED SEVEN TIMES IN THE PAST HOUR
FOUR TIMES WERE YOUR FAULT
THE REST WERE BECAUSE OF MY ASTHMA ATTACK I HAVE TO USE MY INHALER WHENEVER I HEAR YOUR VOICE IN MY HEAD
I WOKE UP YESTERDAY AND YOUR NAME BLED OUT OF MY MOUTH LIKE WATER FROM A ******* SPOUT WHY CAN'T I FORGET YOU ALREADY
IF I SHOOT YOUR GRAVESTONE WILL YOUR GHOST GO UP IN FLAMES?IF I CLAW OUT MY EYES WILL I FINALLY STOP SEEING YOU IN PLACES YOU CANNOT BE?IF I LET FEATHERS FALL FROM MY BACK LIKE ANGELS' WINGS WILL YOU COME BACK TO LIFE?
TOUCH YOUR FINGERS TO MY CROWS FEET AND TELL ME I LOOK ******* AWFUL
PLEASE JUST TELL ME I LOOK ******* AWFUL
THERE ARE SEVEN WAYS TO TELL SOMEONE YOU HATE THEIR GUTS
ONE OF THEM IS DYING
I'M SORRY YOU HATE MY GUTS BUT I HATE YOURS MORE
I HATE YOUR LIVER AND YOUR KIDNEYS AND YOUR ******* LUNGS I HATE HOW MUCH YOU SMOKED
I HATE HOW YOU REMEMBERED MY ASTHMA AND BLEW OUT THE ASHES AWAY FROM MY FACE
WEAVE LACEWORK OVER MY HANDS AND FACE LEAVE DOTS OF BLOOD AROUND MY EYES
SHOW ME YOU WERE HERE
SHOW ME THAT I DIDN'T MAKE YOU UP YOU WERE NEVER A FEVER DREAM
YOU WERE COLD AND REAL AND I WISH YOUR PIANIST'S FINGERS COULD STILL PLAY
THERE IS NO GREY AREA ON A BABY GRAND
NO ROOM FOR ERROR WHEN YOU CRASH YOUR CAR INTO A BRICK WALL
THEY TOLD ME TO HONOR YOUR MEMORY SO I CUT OUT MY LUNGS IN THE HOPES THAT IT WOULD HELP YOU TO BREATHE AGAIN
THIS IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A TSUNAMI AND A HURRICANE.

and maybe one day you and i will write our own realities
because we are boys whose dreams begin and end with cheeky grins
and dark eyes
and we are boys whose dreams begin and end with mousy brown hair
and hurt painted on forearms
and we are children and young and fierce
we are like the wind
and our love is everlasting
and maybe one day you and i will sign a petition to end the world
bloodstains and a lit match on our cheap hotel bedspread
tornado valley in our hearts and in our heads
i can’t promise you that this is real
but i can promise you that it can be
maybe one day you and i will cut out our hearts
and sew them to our sleeves
and let them bleed down and soak back into our sinew
but right now we are children,and
we are young and fierce,and
we will love young and fierce
(twelve years and thirteen bodies later--)

they trained me to move elegantly before i could even move
so i'm resorting to being a ******* misfit
(maybe if i try hard enough their work
will reverse)
my teenage hipbones are a geometry problem
acute angles jutting from beneath my shirt
my jeans have always hung too low and i'm too poor to buy a good belt.
you tell me, softness in your eyes, softness in your fingertips,
that you love how they sit on my hips.
i was born on a full moon,
howling before i had learned how to speak
your humanity matches my humility
my futility
you were born with the stars in your eyes
and when you touched my shoulder i felt them
a thousand and one galaxies
******* in you
my first word was hatred and yours was adoration
and maybe that's why i can't help
but wish on you.
that which a man does not have attracts him;;
i wonder what attracted you to me

he remembers your touch but not your face
maybe if you hold on a little tighter he'll respond with a smile
he's archaic and you're a battlefield
you were never meant to touch in the first place
acute lines connecting against the laws of science
he's a geometry problem, roughness against blood vessels
his hips jut out from under his shirt
you press your thumbs against them and breathe
try not to ***** yourself on his ribcage
he'll kiss you like he means it but his eyes will cloud when you look into them
he doesn't always recognise your voice
you kiss him anyway you hold him close like maybe if your hearts beat in time for long enough he'll start to feel it
the first time he looks at you with eyes that belong to him you think your lungs might close up
he sketches you, fingers trailing like stardust over skin and jutting bone
you used to dig a knife into the palm of your hand just to make sure you would bleed like everybody else
he used to dig a knife into the upper-left side of his chest just to make sure he was really human
you cradle your scars together
LIVEDIELIVEREPEAT
the pain's more bearable with him
you hold him when he has nightmares and he holds you when you can't take living
(all that you used to know is gone;
you're all each other has left
survivors of a lost age)
life is a series of compromises
you've already made enough for one lifetime