he gathers records
of some history which never
truly lived
decides this melancholic heart
isn't worth fighting for

rereading the romance
which swept her into the clouds
so high up she became out of reach
and all he could do was whisper goodbye
so quietly only God could hear

the records form into a narrative
existing in linear progression
unfortunately outdated
tainted by its irrelevance

the edges of my fingertips
swell up as they lack their magic
exposure to red disdain
covering delicate skin with danger

the walls protecting a heart
slowly die in their place
and accept the consistent rush
of an old air conditioner doing its best
to persuade heat to leave

so my empty body can feel at home
in my empty room
away from the indulgence
of July's freedom
where destiny forms between lips
and summer dresses paint the day
with vibrancy

where the borders of dawn and dusk
slip terror into the comfort
once safe enough to spend a lifetime with

so perfect it should only belong
in a Photoshop picture
where you simply take the flaws
and eradicate them

if I could take these burns
which burn brightest outside
and quietly kiss them away
like all the other things which can't
come back
leaving loose strands in dark subconscious
waiting for their moment to shine

being called the good guy
the nice guy
should be a compliment
when really it's a polite way
of saying you're not good enough

you're not the best looking
you don't walk the fine line
of bad boy and *******

you're swimming in a sea of sharks
always stuck in second place

but the girls like you
they like your sensitivity, your compassion
though a perfect personality can't compete
with a cocky smile
or razorblade lips

after all someone has to be the friend
gay or not you're at a comfortable distance
at the edges of arm's length

locked in a window
waiting forever to come in from the cold
to take off your boots and
dry your skin by the fire
to say "this is where I belong"

your shoulders don't carry the alpha weight
never mustering enough masculinity
but one day you'll be the catch
father of the next year
husband material
not appropriate for a boyfriend
you'll age like fine wine
in some time foreign to now

in the mean time what should you do?
stand on the sidelines
while her heart gets beaten to death
endless brutality when she's had enough
only to say it isn't enough?

it's never enough

but keep yourself good
the world could use fewer *******
eventually someone will see you
for who you are
and that'll be beautiful
one day

no matter what you should always be yourself
it's the best you can do
it's the only honest thing to do
extend your arms with sincerity
some day someone will walk into them
and realize all that you are
which is simply not good enough

as space promises to prolong dusk
long enough for those mourning the day's loss
to see if when they kiss there's still passion
or if it slips into obligation

will the kids who race through summer
riding the wind like chariots
will they raise their arms to become legends
and leave history in their footsteps

earthly aesthetic of sunburned tattoos
fading butterfly or a late parents' signature
looking for shelter in shaded ground
what was once perfect is now tarnished

a heat wave - some would say
melting motivated desire
lifting anguish out of simplicity
glued to the thickness of the day
sun and sky retire
slipping away without realization

rereading this in 10-15 years
may do little by way of
conjuring nostalgic pleasure

it may be like that painting in your house
which you swore you knew the origin of
but suddenly it's nothing but a stream of colors
and it prefers if you look away

the room is so cold and empty
you half expect dust to rise from your lungs
not being the first thing to leave you

placing a date at the top of the page
may feel like historical value
when really it's just some numbers
drifting further into the sea of memory
hoping one day it'll rush back with the current
crashing an eclectic wave through you
as unrealized wisdom will greet you
like old friends

the girl you swore would find you
may have found a different future
the guy next to her doesn't look a thing
like you
but they look good together

the boys and girls
who took shelter in bars
may be doing the same thing
but with faces of men and women
while that boyish look of yours
turns into something strangely beautiful

those worries and fears
which flew around you like demons
cursing your existence
can melt under a candle
standing on top of extended hands

all of this could read
like some ancient dialect
belonging to a person
who lived their own life

out of the ethereal bliss
where you came from
woken by godlike thunder
from an aging grandfather clock
striking the twelve
while you see your hands
are without hands to hold them

afraid that the day before you
will open to reveal
a window of nothing
romance that doesn't belong to you
from others who make the most of their time
you'll retell this saying "lovers" instead

heat sticks to you
like a bandage which forgot the pain
peeling off blankets
wishing you could peel off skin

the rush of routine
where pockets of laziness
should be spent hoping
for that sign to be sent
air of relief flowing through your lungs
but it holds you hostage in patience

and if tomorrow and today
become one
cutting out vocal expression
something to resemble improvement
you'll take solace under the sky
feeling the surface of the earth
cradle you like a scared child

ripped jeans and white shirts
forget their union
when the body that joins them
is too concerned with the heart
it holds
and how it went from being a home
to a tomb
but instead of a resurrected messiah
it only holds the ashes

nothing concrete to build
a story around
but evidence of some pain
whose markings taint the air inside

these hands have never felt this useless
to once hold a weight
or an arm
or carry skin
suddenly hold absence
fingers too afraid to close
confirming the inevitable

the stability of this body
once solid on a bed
for two
suddenly scared by the extra space
it wants to move to the floor

left in naked existence
these hands can only move across
emptiness for so long
before they can't even
hold worth

the stone that could roll
away and restore faith
covers half of this tomb
enough to forget
there's anything there