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dean Dec 2013
red
you told me once when i was
at the younger side of the ten
years between us that sorrow
was so familiar to you it ran
daily through your (nervous)
system. a tragic blood type,
you said. be grateful that you
are neither donor nor receiver
and your inertia will carry
you through.

  
                               tonight you
sat in the living room and tried
to explain the mystery of who
he is to your father. his first
love died in his arms as a
teenager. he went to military
school, reform school, but he
could never escape his tragic
fate.


         know this now: your
father will not understand. he
will nod and nod but his
tragedies were penned by
sophocles, your own
shakespearean; they belong
to different times. he will not
understand.

                       your father thinks
your blood type is the one
printed on the laminated card
in your wallet. your father finds
the man you love neurotic. your
father is a great man but his
veins are built for fire and steel

and yours are made for sorrow.
dean Oct 2013
it's hard to believe
the earth was ever
dry
dean Oct 2013
a cup of poison, a cake iced with lead paint.
maybe one day you'll understand that this sustenance is not food,
that your love is not love.
dean Oct 2013
you asked me if i
thought it hurt when
icarus threw himself into the
sun

i didn't have the heart to
tell you how the story ended
how he woke up in a burn
ward

how he flipped a coin
heads or tails and when
it came up daedalus was still
dead

you can romanticize it all you
want but we all know who's
who in this metaphor and how
sweet

it will feel when you incinerate
me i promise when i wake up
wherever that is i'll still write you
psalms
EDIT: wow this is trending? who picks those things anyway? anyway, to anyone who sees this thanks for reading and I hope you have a great day :)
dean Oct 2013
If I didn't visit
I would forget how to miss you
And the worst part is

I'm not sure if that's a bad thing anymore
dean Oct 2013
where the road ends
a hollowed-out husk
rests, smoking, ashen
                                      and if i could make myself believe
                                             the pyrotechnics were my own
you wouldn't have to
set your fires anymore
dean Oct 2013
you make the moon ex-
pand with your laugh and contract
when you fall to sleep

don't move up north or
that midnight sun will steal your
magic, your heart, mine
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