After all this time, I still look for your name
You will never leave my thoughts, no matter the pain
I honestly wish you knew what you'd done
But it's okay for you, you've up and gone
I wish I could tell you what you meant to me
But hey, who cares, you'll never see
The hurt I still feel, the tears I've shed
The heartbreak that still lingers, how much I've bled
You'll never know, and you'll never care
That if you needed me now, I'd be right there
But you've forgotten me, and all we went through
And I wish I didn't, but deep down, I still love you....

when she walks in,
home is no longer
a home, nothing but
nicotine-stained walls,
a collision of
          sc a t t  ere   d
          s  (ca n         't)
          m e m or ie   s

she's––
( your go-to fuckbuddy.)
––stretched by your side,
laid out bare against
mussed up sheets and
tracing the lines of your ribs
with the pads of her fingers:
your cruel mistress,

and you're
a ******* mess
of blue lips and
trembling hands
even cigarettes and candy
can't seem to quell

I bet I'll miss the perfect girl
And before you tell me
She does not exist,
You and I both know:
It's all relative.
So there's someone as perfect
As perfect gets,
And she's loads better than
All the rest.

And to me, that's perfect.

I'll miss her cause she'll walk on by
When I'm taking a sip of coffee
And looking at my phone.
It won't even be perfect cup,
And there'll be nothing perfect
On my screen,
But she'll walk on by,
Perfectly.

Maybe she was born in Tibet
And has never left her town.
So we'll never have met,
She just won't be around.
And we'll both grow old
With whoever we may choose,
Never knowing
What we had to lose.

Or I'll meet her,
I just won't see
How incredible
She and I could be,
And I just won't like her.
Or maybe I will,
But maybe she just won't like me.



I bet I'll miss the perfect girl.
I bet I already did.

in the early morning hum,
in the beat of the drum of the white noise and the misplaced light, i
treasure you.
the sole familiar thing.

an old, cloying taste
clings to my mouth.
i think you are sleeping.
i know? you are sleeping.
i awoke to silence filled by your silence.
i know you are sleeping;
i felt loved by your silence, still.

i know this is love i imagine for myself in the ways i need it most;
i know how this goes.

in the early morning hum,
in the beat of the drum of the white noise and the misplaced light,
i allow myself to feel a very real fear that you
will be everything i needed
and almost everything i want.

and so in preparation,
a separation:
i shift and twitch and shiver until i am at once here
and not,
until i am at once here
and in the moment,
some way down the line,
that old, cloying taste magnified,
when all comes to pass as i knew it would and i can say
“i knew it would.”
i know how this goes.

you take the morning bus to secaucus,
and i, the one to new york.
when sleep greets me and leans my head
gently
against the window pane,
i will let it come.
i will let it try to fill your absence
in ways i know to be short-lived, for naught,
but i will let it try.

i will miss you when i wake up,
miss the silence that i thought you crafted for me,
but which was really just
silence.
i will miss you when i wake up as i miss you when you are next to me.
i want, for us, something infinite:
that which we cannot have and which you do not want,
hard as i wish you did.

but.
the sun rises —
i know how this goes —
and the misplaced light finds its place again.
the silence i thought you crafted for me, which was really just
silence,
becomes noise.
hectic. colorful without order.
i will miss you when i wake up,
but what ache is strong enough to pull something personal
from all that noise?

you take the morning bus to secaucus,
and somewhere in new york i try to live a life as though you have already left me.
if i had my way,
hopeful, futile grasps towards the infinite would not hold ample weight for a haunting.

and yet,
that old, cloying taste.

still.

(a.m.)

Suddenly  gone  very  quiet  here.
Main  tourists  now  long  gone.

Birds  and  animals  quiet  too.
No  morning  chorus.

Weather  stagnant, mainly  cloudy, no  wind.
And  surprisingly  no  sign  of  rain.

Trees  are  beautiful  though.
Leaves  of  rich  reds,  browns,  and  golds.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.



,

I dreamed
I was
At Birthwaite
I awoke
I was

Keith Wilson, Windermere, UK, Oct 2016

Peering through crimson curtains,
Into the life of someone new.
Peeling away their layers,
Until all becomes black, just like you.

All the temporary aloneness
Doesn't feel so alone now.
The sickening darkness
Seems enchanting.
Curling into a ball
Then being free.
All down to you
Down to me.