Commit arson on your lungs
with some stolen cigarettes
destroy the last good thing
your parents ever gave you

here's how it happens
the morning after
you reach into the drawer
where the your t-shirts live
to find it austere
you'll shrug because
you're still drunk
& you can't remember
when last it was
that you had something wet
or how long it's been
since you made the floorboards blush
or why the carpet is upset
who wouldn't be
the contents to the upended ashtray
strewn around the apartment
resemble the aftermath
of the smallest war
to ever take place in norfolk
some midnight thief
must've made off with the lighter
because it isn't in
any of your favorite spots
maybe you chucked it
along with a hundred other things
that make noise when they land
in the neighbors yard
you won't remember putting
the refrigerator's belongings
in the bathtub
or scrawling a buzzard
on the bedroom door
but then again who would
you'll pretend it's spring again
before putting on your winter coat
to go out front with a cigarette
in your mouth
you'll hope for a passing stranger
to *** a light from
or drag yourself to the corner
with couch cushion change
to buy a new lighter
and on your way
you won't bother looking back
this is just another day
on eggshells for no reason
another november
choking on birthday candles
on your way home
you step over beer cans
the kind you fell in love with
and wonder who
had the last laugh last night
or if anyone said a word at all
it might've been another
moment of clarity
it might have been some idiot savant
any adjective that feels like home
anything that keeps you thirsty

"When did your hair get long?"
Has it really been that long
since my hair got stuck in your mouth?
Isn't that weird that I could have loved you
that much
and we didn't speak for a year.
When did my hair get long?
I was so busy drowned in my misery
that life was going on around me
and I never noticed.
"I should get it cut."
But that's not your business anymore.
I mean I'm ******* your brother.
It's all so ******.

The mountains,
Chalked with snow, Beautiful.

The trees,
Scarred from past lives, Sorrow.

The lake,
Bleeding with life, Stagnant.

The Land,
Specked with people, Oblivion.

I am nothing but footprints in the sand
to him.
Odious, he who left me to fight the tides,
promised me forever.
How long is forever?
                               Three years, two months,
                               Eleven days, an hour
                               and twenty-three seconds.
Now he’s back,
expecting a norm so chimerical.
But, disconsolate as I am,
sleeping ‘til body withered--
crying ‘til eyes dusted--
Yet he’s obdurate to this, my Odious.
No amount of imprecations
can succor this heartbreak.
My armored skin,
antiquated from battles long and harsh--
turned to mere paper against his words.
He has me by the corner,
above the red, red flame
and wants to act like I am not burning.
Such a silver tongue, my Odious,
he can fabricate like no other.

My dear Odious,
     Leave me to fight the tides,
     as I hope your Promethean fever
     leaves you as cold
     and as alone
     as your true heart.
Yours always,
     Detritus