Why does the smell of my own room
remind me of you?
Is that why I was so desperate to leave for good?
Why my parents say "it's so ****
good to see you."

"I still look to see if he's smoking out the back."
My father's unshed tears roll out
and I try and catch them with nothing to catch.
No hands to hold out, even,
I gave up holding out.

There's so many things to get over.
I feel like my happiness has run out;
in my dreams I ask you
"am I dreaming?" and you argue no -
but I know - and pinch myself to prove it.

And when I wake up it's not over.
I've been waiting for so long because
I know it will get better,
but when and how long will it last?

Dear reader,


It won't be long before they electrocute the trees with candy colored Christmas lights. Soon everything will be gone: memories, glances, the year. Every thing will dissolve into nostalgia and our lives will become more patchwork and less hopeful. Soul-crushingly sweet our smiles will be, as we watch that disguised meteorite crash into our existence.

Her name was Reno. Her dad joked he named her so because she was the result of a gamble gone wrong.

I could see the stitching around her eyes start to falter, as tears slipped out like a young nineteen year-old girl, running out of the back of a double-wide. Away. Away from it all. Leaving her father, the mechanic who could only fix things with his hands. Running through a field as shimmering as her nails, touching the tall grass with her short fingers.

"I'm not trailer trash," she said, "I've just had it rough."

Reno could see things others couldn't see. Frequently she painted wrecked cars, and I asked why, to which she explained, "Some accidents are allowed to be beautiful."

I fell for her the way her jaw drops after one of my inappropriate jokes: quickly and with such joy.

She had the same answer to when I asked if she liked movies and if she missed her mom.

"Of course I do, Josh," she looked at me and smiled, "Hey buck, have you ever seen True Romance?"

A woman after my own heart.

We watched Christian Slater shoot Drexl, and, like a bullet to the chest, she placed her hand over my heart.

"My, oh my, are you sure that rib cage is big enough for that thing, Mr. Haines?"

She looked a little like Patricia Arquette, but identical to Michelle Williams.

"Are you aware that you look like Michelle Williams?"

Reno ran her hands up my legs, across my torso, and held her hands at my jaw,"Are you aware of how good of a person you are, John Mayer?"

"Ah, yeah. I've gotten that since high school."

She smiled, looked down and up at me,"No, the part about you being a good person? ...You're the drawing on my wall."

I didn't know what that meant.

"I had this drawing-so terrible-it was of the sunset on our hill in Welling Valley," she looked into me and down, while smiling,"Anyway, the sun would kiss the grass every evening, and one day I thought I'd draw it and keep it in my room. When every thing got ugly with my daddy's drinking, and when he beat me something awful, I wanted something to remind me that the light sometimes goes away but will always be back another day. You're my light, Josh. You're the next day after nineteen years of cussing and drinking."

We made love on my bed, as, through the window, the sun bathed our bodies. Her body was a sculpture and her voice was as soft as her lips. I was terrified.

Pulling her hair back, she stood at the foot of my bed, naked,"Are you scared of little ole' me? You look as white as a ghost."

"No, I've never felt so alive... You're so ******* beautiful."

Reno and I lain in bed while Parks and Rec played on the television. Her index and ******* walked across my chest and stopped as she asked, "Josh, have you ever been in love?"

I touched my fingers on hers, studying them with my eyes, and then I looked at her, "Yes, once."

"What was it like?"

I thought I'd feel pain but instead I smiled, "Fantastic, fleeting, and always a little out of reach."

She cooed, "I can't wait until I think I love you like nobody else."

"Me too."



Sincerely,


Joshua Haines

John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

(This poem posted in tribute to the life &memory; of Robin Williams...Rest in Peace)

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
(Edwin Arlington Robinson)

I have touched his every circle, line, and rectangle
I have kissed every messy hair tangle
I have caressed every piece of flesh hidden
I have pressed my lips against his forbidden

I have succumbed to his open mouth kisses
I have submitted when his smug smile misses
I have stroked his throbbing member
I have promised him my month of December

I have gazed at a god in my eyes
I have seen past his everyday lies
I have loved his ****** up chest
I have seen him at his best

I have seen him at his worst
I have also been the one to love him first
I have watched him drink to leave from me
I have finally set his cold heart free

she's the girl you meet
when you're young and reckless

you meet her when
you were expecting another pack of cigarettes
to add to your chain smoking addiction

everyone leaves her
because she is the epitome of
fuzzy blankets
reckless abandon
hopeful sunsets
long terms
unconditional love

and after they realize
the depth of the scars on her heart
they're gone
no explanation

"someday you'll find someone who deserves you"
"don't give up on love because of me, they're not all this bad"
and the worst,
"you're still my best friend"

until someone realizes
she is content with imperfection

she will always be alone

some days i feel this overwhelming urge to run.
run run run run run run because i'm afraid of something, of everything, of nothing.
run as far away as i can. until my legs break. until the engine blows. until my brain bleeds and i fall. all of me spilling out all over the ground.
run until i am nothing.
run to a place where it isn't just dark.

everything i feel is wrong. there is nothing but darkness in my head.
like being locked in a room with a voice calling you out, but you can't see anything and you keep stumbling around, your hands feeling for shadows and faces that you can only see in your mind.

i forget what is real. i forget who i was. they told me that i'm sick.
they said that all these parts of my personality are symptoms.

i think i will be the death of me.

i keep my hopes and dreams in a paper sack

i pull them out when i feel the need

some are stale, never meant to last

those i take to the shore and toss in the sea