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 Oct 2013 Emma E Jones
Jimmy King
A tattoo is just a scar;
A person is just a human being-
Not much more than a Wendy’s bag
That looks like road-****;
Not much more
Than a series of frames in a film
With a blackness in between
That our minds remove,
Creating an illusion of motion
Similar to the illusion of effortlessness
Created as we drive up a hill,
Pumping fossil fuels into the air
As everyone breathing outside the car
Rings like the aftermath of a gunshot
Or a screaming plea in an unfamiliar ear
“Stab me some more, dear,
Let the ink flow,
The film is running out
And I can see the blackness finally
Of the space that’s in between”
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Arabella
a list of songs
that I don't want to sing,
I wonder if when you smoke
I ever cross your mind.

kisses on the cheek
hang loose,
like toys do
in a tired child's hand.

and the only thing our lips
bring each other
are awkward greetings
followed by another sudden
departure.

I don't necessarily miss you
but I do miss the warmth you brought
home each night.

doodles of my tattoo
are found scattered through your notes.
you're pretending
that it's a coincidence.

Who was she
to disgust love
in your eyes.

empty hearts
being filled with the burning
of any alcoholic beverage
that we are presented with.

it's time to get up off the floor,
because you're not coming for me.
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Arabella
let's go to a coffee shop.
pour out our secrets
and let them blow away with the wind,
finding you a year later
when you sit down again.

forget about that week before you left.
when you lost all hope,
and we stopped being friends.

forget about the time when you came back,
and kissed her in front of me,
over and over again.

forget about
whatever happened to us,
because I still miss you.
And even though you don't want to
I can see in your eyes that you do
and that you're sorry.

Even though you don't want to,
let's sit down and pretend
that nothings changed.
That you were still that sweet boy
who spent a whole month
trying to make me happy again
after I fell apart.

Let us go back
to sitting in coffee shops,
teasing each other
while listening
to bad poetry.

Crawl out of that shell
you've run away to
so that we can go back
to being friends.
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Arabella
papers clenched tight
with tears streaming down
a dirt covered face,
I wonder what  i've done this time.

Long car rides,
as such,
leave us to nothing but our thoughts;
wondering why the hell you would try and kiss me,
as your "lover" stood close.

like death,
She picks away at everyone and everything until they crumble
in her hands so that she can casually toss them to the side.
Going the extra mile,
making you want to turn inside out,
until she has her way.

One month ago you loved me,
and I wish
you were still my best friend.
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Arabella
what has it all come to?
sleepless nights
filled with consuming anything
that will alter our bodies
and mind.
searching for a non-existing
company.

old lovers
and promises
run around
like marathons,
and each Saturday night,
I fall apart.

My limbs
cause nothing but trouble.
And leaving my body
wholey,
would be heavenly.

the leaves are changing,
and the long nights are getting colder.
there hasn't been a day in the past month in which I haven't cried,
and I'm terrified of what comes next.
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Jimmy King
My mom welcomes me in from the cold fall air
With a plate of home-made french toast-
Maple syrup pouring like the lies I tell her;
Powdered sugar, the dots of truth I work in
When it's convenient to do so

The smell of *****, spilled
On that place on my jeans beneath which
I have tattooed every moment spent without her,
Is masked by the batter of a sleep-deprived morning
When all I want to do is go to my mom
With all the problems she doesn't even know I have

Over that breakfast of laughs and warm family smiles,
And over a warm cup of tea to get me passed my hangover,
She asks me all about my night that didn't happen
And I continue to paint for her
The lie I don't even really remember first telling.
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Jimmy King
I love you
Especially when I
Drink.
If you feel-
The same way-
Maybe shots should be
Called: good

And if you
(Love me)
Maybe we should
Kiss.

More often.
I wrote this poem while very very drunk last night at two in the morning. Immediately, I wrote in huge capital letters across the page: “Bad Writing”. And I threw it away.

But waking up there this morning, I wanted to see what I had written. So I dug through the empty bottles of ***** in the trash to find it.

Scrawled in pink sharpie, and going in and out of cursive, something about it struck me. I liked the simplicity, the honesty, the form. So here it is.
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Jimmy King
I wrote you love poems
In a pink sharpie because
I was falling in love with you,
And the more I listen to this song
(Sixty four times tonight),
I think that it isn’t fading
Like the chords she played
As I held you
And as we swayed

I wrote you love poems
In pink sharpie
Not thinking of you
But thinking instead
That the four shots of *****
Maybe made it okay
For me to kiss you

I wrote you love poems
In a pink sharpie
And then I threw the love poems
In the trash,
Not drunk enough to forget
That showing you
Might make you cry

Those love poems
That I wrote in pink sharpie
Came out of the trash this morning though
Because somehow
I thought a few tears
Might make everything better
 Sep 2013 Emma E Jones
Jimmy King
Fleetingly holding
Air of lungs in palms
I gaze up at floating blankets
Incapable of warmth
And hanging just below
The stars and bodies bouncing
Off the water in my mind

Though confined to basement
I see the shore we stand on,
Skipping stones
Across the lake
Until me my body throws
To a wind too powerful
To threaten sailing thoughts
Like the hands I hold-
Refusing to understand
The weight of breath
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