I'm jangling along,
in time with charms falling across my arms.
silver fade with cheap,  black dyed suede.

I'm a simple kind of fix.

running into woven traps and loose ends,
hiding from our emotions,
hiding from our daily lives.

I started drawing exit signs.

coffee, college, cigarettes,
there's no place here to hold regrets,
but they occasionally manage to slip in for awhile.
it's nothing I can't drink away,
now that I know how badly I want to do just that.

packed away and labeled in little boxes,
dust is gathering on the picture frame,
that you gave to me after graduation.
how could we have known how little time we had?

and I'm sorry,
                          I'm sorry.

I'm not coming back for the past
it will **** me,  break me,  own me,

and I'm sorry,
                          I'm sorry.

I have no room for weaknesses now,
the spaces are reserved,  my heart is closed.
I turned to sand, and ash,  I slipped away.
where were you to save me?

I'm not going to remember you in four years,
so I suppose it's just as well.

3/5/13

I lied to you.
I said "who knows what the future holds."
before I walked out and had my cigarette.

I know.

I know I won't be coming back anymore.

I know I looked into your eyes, and didn't tremble.

I'm satisfied.
I want no more of these tense confessions
and temporary forgiveness.

let's bury the hatchet.
let's never have to talk again.

because I really didn't like it.

I was sitting here against the wall
when you woke up.
I knew I shouldn't expect you to know me,
and yet you did.

look at us,  how far we've come.
I know this room doesn't look like much.
you have to know,
that after all these years, I still find it beautiful.

we can leave right now,
but first I should tell you,

we were wrong.
the future is coming, and I am not afraid.

an epic poem that I can't convince my pen to write
'cause I've been far too busy riding city buses
and drinking beer,  and staying in bed.

a theme of budding alcoholism,
                                              and seasonal depression.

classes and meals skipped,
                                                  comas and car crashes.
it's all real, and it's all happening.

it's going home and then leaving it again,
boxes both packed and unpacked,
facebook messages I wish I could take back.

pages I leave blank,
                    when I want to write all the way down.
puking in your driveway,
                              the last night that I skipped town.
phone calls to celia,
                                 until I get to go see her again.
running into your houses,
                                 smoking cigarettes with friends.

I hope that Portland swallows you up.
and that Seattle drowns you.

the wind is taking more drags off my cigarette than I am. that's buffalo;
wind&concrete;&cold.;
I won't let you crawl into the gutters,
and die in the snow.
in the alleys of these long lost streets,
we keep trying to revive.

and I ask myself
if you'd let me fall asleep out in the cold,
six shots down & I don't want to know.
I'm still walking on my own,
against the cold, and keeping warm.

I'm taking good care of myself,
now that I know you won't do it for me.