Etched across my back,
each one about a fingers width apart,
and red, horizontal lines.
One set starts at the center
and spreads in either direction.
Another set starts in the same way,
yet spreads at an angle,
as though to make a triangle
with the ground,
if they were to continue.

Left by the nails on your fingers,
these marks will linger
for a while
and then fade.
Just as everything does.
Just as everything must.

Usually
when I get any sort of late night feelings
and decide to write
the outcome, the product
is clean,
crisp,
but most importantly,
cold.
The feelings are typically harsh;
self hatred,
self loathing,
loneliness.

But tonight, oh God tonight,
the feelings are warm.
After a self performed heart palpitation
I have concluded that I'm at risk of a heart attack.  

Hours ago I met a girl.
Tall.
The first thing that struck me was how tall she was.
Almost as tall as me,
I didn't have to avert my eyes down to meet her own.
Which was refreshing.
The next thing that I noticed was her face.
More so, the beauty held within.
The beauty held above and below her eyes.
The freckles that dotted her cheeks,
her nose,
her forehead.

Although we did not exchange numbers, only names,
my heart rate sped up to an alarming speed
when I received a call.
Checking it quicker than I normally would have,
I **** near fell out of my chair to wrangle it from my pocket.
It was only a friend calling.
Asking if I had any dope
and if he could come over.
I said no and no and goodnight.

With my heart still beating fast
and my face comfortably warm
I lay down
and looked at the roof.
Usually
the white paint makes me sick
but this time I could only see the outline of her face.
I drew in her freckles with my fingers
and created a beautiful piece of art.
Only to have it fade from my mind.
Gasping, I reached for it.
I erased all thoughts and all memories other than those of her.
For the moment that it lasted I was at ease.
While it was not true meditation I reached enlightenment.
I felt peace.

And while it still resonates in my mind and heart,
I cannot seriously believe it will last.
I beg God to let it stay.
I ask God for this one thing,
I promise him I will do no more wrong,
I will not pick up my pipe tonight
or tomorrow
or ever again.
I promise to never taste alcohol again,
if only he will let this feeling last.
That's the least he can do.
The very least.

I lied to my friend.
I have plenty of dope,
for now,
as the feelings are already leaving.

~

Today, a family friend marveled at how much I remind him of my father.
You must understand how much this scared me.
Nothing scares me more than addiction,
yet I perpetually submit myself to addictive behavior, substances, feelings.

These holes I've been digging cannot be dug forever.
There is a bottom and that is excommunication, prison, death.
No person will dig me out,
no person can.

The clock may move slower
after I use this,
and it may move quicker
after I use this.
It doesn't matter to me,
as long as moves in a way other than it does in sobriety.

The sun will rise and the sun will set,
all according to plan.
For hundreds of years into the future
astrologers have predicted at what time which stars
can be seen from certain locations on Earth.
Yet I do not know where I will be tomorrow.
I do not know who will be with me.
I do not know if my father will still love me,
or if we will still share a home, a family, blood.

I cry ***** the color of Christ-blood.
It stains these linen sheets
and gets me drunker than Uncle Jim at a Christmas party.

Lonely thoughts breed lonely feelings
and lonely feelings hurt.
They hurt in the same way you do, because they're made of the same stuff.
Mixed in the same kitchen;
the recipe is the same.
One part brandy to one part cola to seven part tears.

A little girl who believes in love is much better off than the one who does not.
Much in the same way as a child believing in Santa Claus.
Belief can only set you up for disappointment,
but the feelings at the time of belief run deeper than the feelings after revelation.

Today,
at a street festival,
I watched a girl I have never met,
have never taken notice of before,
dance for about an hour.

I sat there,
begging God for the courage to get up
and dance alongside her.

After more than a few chance eye contacts
I decided to not look away when she looked at me.
Not missing a beat or a step we held one another's gaze
for a while.

Spinning and smiling she motionlessly
and wordlessly
beckoned me forth.

Denying myself a simple pleasure of
human interaction
and dancing, I remained seated.

After everyone had left,
and the band had stopped playing,
there, in the middle of the street she stood standing.

There, under the orange glow of the streetlights
atop a small coffee table
I sat, imagining her reflection in my eyes.

If God would ever be so generous as to allow it,
I would do it different.
I would dance next to her and then with her.

If God would ever be so generous as to allow it,
I would do it right.

We had a list of movies we were going to watch together.
Ranging from The Iron Giant to The Princess bride
and all the way back to James and the Giant Peach,
but we only watched three movies together,
two of which weren't on our list.

You have your permit to study abroad,
and I have six cigarettes left in my pack.

God, how I hate the stars
and how these blank walls drive me insane.

May 17th was the first day I wrote about you.
Many times since then have I written about you.
This will be the third time today I have written about you.

If all went according to script this would have been a deadpan comedy where the jokes on me, the main protagonist, because this is a low budget indie film and ha-ha it's funny because I don't get what I strive for during the two hours the audience watched and the 3 months the characters lived it.