couldn’t sleep so I went out for a cigarette; contemplated the true meaning of being lonely

and it’s something to do with being just good enough for everybody around you, but never good enough for yourself.

something to do with wanting to regret a touch, a feeling, a smile. being too scared to accept a lapse in judgement.

being too self aware to just let it happen

my fingers went numb while I smoked and thought it over. the best revenge is never taking it. And the worse curse is a slow curse.

I hope you never have to end up this lonely.

screaming inside.
deaf like winter nights.
as unbroken as a sheet of glass.
blank and see through.

the lump sum of every rotted feeling.
all the things I've always known I am.
all the things you always thought I was.
all of these things,  they come out at night.
and they are not sleeping.

they make me face the many ways,
how I wanted to mourn you.
how I wanted to forget you.
and how I'm never sincere enough,
to know just what I want.

how I am hurting.
no one but myself.

I am, screaming inside.
making myself deaf like winter nights
when I am afraid to make a sound,
I'm only courageous enough to take a drag,
and then I have nothing left to take from you.

this is a distress signal.
I'm going under.

I looked across lake ontario,
I couldn't find the edge.
I couldn't see across that flat grey abyss.
I wanted to dive in; to drown trying to find you.
I wanted to float on the the other side,
where I might find you; see you one last time.

that was two weeks ago.
that was october 12th, a saturday.
I survived it then.
but I'm drowning now, on dry land.
in my bed.
on my bed.

I don't know where to find you.
I haven't got a clue.
I don't remember the sound of your voice.
I don't remember the curves of your face.
or the color of your eyes.

this is a distress signal.
this is a desperate plea.
this is my lake ontario.
this is my grey abyss.
my message in a bottle,
floating across the frigid waters.

I am the titanic.
you are the carpathia.

I will sink before you reach me.

It's only getting worse.
I'm only getting worse.

my eyes are;
aching, burning, cried out.
my lungs are;
deadweight, exhausted, ****** up.
my body has;
given up, had enough.

and it's not even noon yet.

for Brendan,
because you asked me to,
I wrote a love poem for the machinery.
an ode to the efficiency,
of well scheduled maintenance.

they only hummed in response,
but I imagined it was in appreciation
so I continued,

I wrote sonnets concerning,
proper wiring configurations,
and stand alone power grids. 
things that seemed important,
to things that could never feel.

they only hummed in response, 
but I imagined it was in appreciation
so I continued,

I looked them over, and over again.
neat little rows of grey metal boxes
computers from the days of old.

I wanted to tell them about Sherman Alexie.
I wanted to tell them about Flannery O'Connor.
I wanted to tell them about Ray Bradbury.
Instead I cried, & tried to cut the building's power.

they only hummed in response.

they will say "no",
     when they should say "yes."
there's been a mistake,  
there's been a manufacturing error.
they made me an empty vessel,
and they sent me down the line.

and it's making me so tired.
I can't spend all my time in search of genuine,
there's none of that left.

not now, not anymore, and maybe not ever at all.
and it hurts me.

so tonight like any other night,
or like no other night at all,
I never thought what I might've lost
when I stopped and gained composure.

just as well.
because now I know it's gone.

I'm doing just fine. 
even if it does seem a little forced and faked sometimes.
it's just the same as when we were young and alive.
you can keep on walking, and remember,
the sidewalk squares have never lied.

so when the start of the new year arrives,
with souls kept too close over telephone lines,
I will still know you just as well as the knotted scars that lay across my spine.

Dearest Carol,
the weather's been cold.
The snow falls from the sky,
and flies up my nose.

Dearest Carol,
the liquor was cheap,
and the beer came free.
Now I know Mr. Winter,
and Mr. Winter  knows me.

Dearest Carol,
I'm coughing again.
I'll see you next Sunday,
if I don't turn up dead.

prefaced by the only glimpse of glamour that I could ever give.

you found me walking downtown streets alone.
I found myself wishing I hadn't gone down that road.

we can hold our guilt above our heads just until the dawn begins to break.
we can hold our guilt above our heads until the spell is broken.

and now my  eyes won't focus.
and now I'm losing my appetite.

you've seen me walking down the empty aisles, 
you've caught me wishing I could sweep the day into the night.

I walk and I wake, I never give,
and yet I always take.

this is your adult life.

we are going to be sophomores again.
a little bit less self assured,
a few more nights a week spent tired and bored.

when the chaos gives in to a good moment's rest,
I will salvage my soul to give you a show,
I am asking myself "can I do this?",
and the answer is, "no".

I walk and I wake,  and I never give,
but I always take.

this is your adult life.

don't sleep until the battery runs dry.
that page is still loading,
the sun outside is gloating, 
"why don't you come outside, 
the waters fine."

so many hours awake,  in bed.
so many things you could've done instead.

I insist on this, if anything, I insist on this.
because a girls gotta stand for something. 

don't eat,  don't sleep,
don't ever dry your eyes.
the pixels can numb you and your soul until the **** thing dies.
we can send eachother whatever search terms cross our slipping minds. 

goodnight.

the second night that I've known to drape my skirt over the light,

the second card in the tarot deck that never gave us any good advice,

the second drag,  the second sip,  the second year
the second trip.

the second time I've slept in a bed that isn't mine.
the only time I spent a night that was immortal,
and could not be measured as a waste of time.

the second child who misses her older brother,
who I have realized is my charge,
and gives me purpose as an angel,
a guardian angel,  undereducated and undercover.

the second day of 1995,
the youngest guest, the most naive friend;
and the last to arrive.

the second that I realized I was worth far more
than I was ever led to believe, the second decade and the very definition of disbelief.

the second glass of a drink you shouldn't take,
that leaves you out on the porch with a story you couldn't fake.

the bass, and the mattress,
the house that isn't mine.
the ache, and the sickness,
that will make you write the line.

"did you ever think you would be this blessed?"

it never rained, but it poured.

poured out some alcohol into my cup,
it wasn't red, wasn't that cliche.

I'm taking a vacation from every single bad thought I've ever had about myself.

I'm taking the day to drink and act the way I know I can when I don't think anybody is watching.

so here,
here you go.

here are the raindrops,
that fell on the car while we finished off the last of the thirty pack.

it's been days and it's been a year.

here is the last of the doubts I used to hold so close.

they have left me, and I have found myself.

the last drags of my cigarette.
the drizzle of the rain upon the awning.
just the memory of you

I want to press the **** of my cigarette
straight into the curve of my neck.
and let it burn.

I am so unsteady,  love.

I am so unsteady,  love.

sometimes I don't understand
the reasons why time has been good to us,
or the reasons why it hasn't.

every little day dissected,
and sorted into "wrong" or "right",
our sins pile up by our bedroom doors,
while we try to sleep at night.

I am ugly inside.
I am rotting.

it is easy to understand why. 

but I can't quite figure out when I went wrong,  
which of my sins tipped the scales

what brought me to this place?
and what is going to bring me out?

but I am so happy for you. 
when I see you smile,
when I see that time has been good to you,  because you were always good to me.

and I understand why I have never deserved it.

my eyes are drying out.
time to put them to rest for awhile.
I should've stopped you, but never did.
we can't control ourselves, we can't stop this.

when I am blind,  I will be able to guide you.
I don't need my sight to bring you home.

when your voice gives out, I will still hear you.
loud and clear,  as if you're speaking in my ear.

my eyes are drying out.
at this hour they are so useless.
I should've slept, but I never did.
we can't take back this curse we cast ourselves.

so when you fall,  I will be there to help you up.
no matter how many reincarnations,
or centuries have passed between us,
my soul will wait to take you home.

and when we our blind, our hearts will see for us.
in shades of summer and youth, we will map out the great adventure that lies before us.

and, oh, how it lies.

the smell of gasoline was making its way,
through my childhood home,
from the oven to the hallway,
to my bedroom, coming to stain my lungs.

somebody is going to wake up.
somebody is going to regret this.

my hair is still pink and blonde,
but the roots are coming in.
the paychecks getting smaller,
my lungs are getting darker,  
and so are my sins.

finally we found ourselves a drinking spot.
four of us,  two and two,
him and he, me and you.
packing bowls, crushing beer cans,
lighting up the dark.

I never asked myself for this
and I never accepted it.

but I found you by your voices.
by the smell that lingers
underneath our lamp post,
by the feeling that pulls me out of the dark,
and into the last summer of my life.

"I'm so ******* tired."

can I tell you a secret?

I always tell you the truth.
the closest thing I have to the truth anyways.
I sometimes even surprise myself.

you don't need to know this.
I don't tell you when it's bad.

I only tell you when it's worst.
I pick these little tiny words.

we liars have to stick together so we can show each other the people we knew we could be, before life happened.

now, I don't know if I love you,
but these feelings never change.
I've never had to ignore them,
and I could make them go away.

can I tell you a secret?

I already have.
because you ask me,  don't forget me,
never have and someday might.
but I don't expect you to stick around.

you never need to know this.
I only tell you when it's worst.
I always pick these tiny words.

thinking about giving away your secrets,
because you haven't for awhile.

and for each and every one you smoke a cigarette.

a drag of confidence gone.

it's four days in and I'm the girl at the mailbox.
5 a.m and already earning stares from the neighborhood joggers.

"hello mr. tomani"

another value tarnished.

call in the dogs,  shut the door,
in the end, you go back to your bed,
call off the experiment,
declare that side of you dead.

you would like to know what it is that you want.

the buzzards have found my gut.
hello again, and welcome back.

let's stretch this day out, me & you, together.
I'll ignore that ****** up sensation,
that all my feelings are being eaten away,
if we can grab some coffee,
if I don't run out of cigarettes.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

we know I spent this weekend hiding,
living on a borrowed pack that's running low,
packing bowls I knew would soon be empty for awhile.
but they couldn't find me, not in that bed.
yet they pace the staircase outside my door, and guard me.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

so we have lunch, and I smile across my last meal,
pretty sure that I would've preferred the cash,
to spend on something that could spoil my lungs.
but it's the thought that counts, it isn't the end quite yet.
and they wait for the scraps I toss beneath the table.

I wonder how no one ever notices me feeding my demons.
I wonder what each emotion tastes like,
I wonder which ones I'm giving away, 'cause I can't look.
I wonder what's left in my body.

the buzzards have found me hiding.
the buzzards have begun to swarm.
they are coming to give me back my emotion.
they are coming to let me know I'm wrong.

hello again, and welcome back.

I called you
and I said,

"I still don't know what happened."
"but I think that it never mattered."

I could hear you breathing on the line,
picking out just what to say.
I drank a lot of wine this morning.
I haven't gotten out of bed today.

3-3-2013

nothing to say, not today.
my notebooks are blank.
my conscience isn't clear.
let this be another day wasted.
another sequence of hours,
so soon to be forgotten.

nothing to say about today,
nothing worth writing.
no imblance of emotion.
no observation or commotion.
just another quiet day.

I wonder sometimes
      what I was thinking.
            what I was feeling.
all the cigarettes that I smoked, and thought of you,
your essence was slipping away with every exhale of emotion.

you're gone.
I don't see your face anymore.
and you haven't given me a good poem,
the entire time I had to write about it.
come to think of it,
you were never that remarkable.

february 9th, 2013

I'm not concerned with your soul,
or your essence, your truth.
**** it, it's nothing to me.
I'm molding you into a still life,
an exhibit, a portrait.
you will not age.
you will never die.
you never left or grew angry.

I'd like to see inside them all,
every passing stranger or fool,
but your shell is beautiful to me,
it's such a shame I cracked it,
and saw the slimy innards,
your grey little slug heart,
that was too slow in it's beating.

truth be told,
your truth is such a turn-off,
so I'll use your ambiguity,
to a paint a pretty picture of you,
where you will live forever,
and I never lose.

2-1-13

I'm fine.
sleep.
I'm fine.
you're fine.
we're all fine.
I smell like cigarettes,
and my phone's dying.
I'm not sure if this what I want to tell you.
so it's just as well that I never will.

please sleep well, wherever you are.

december 10, 2012

hasn't been around here in weeks.
haven't seen her around.
      that desk sits empty and that grade slips lower.
will never be able to make up for time lost,
will not be seeing that 3.0 this semester.

hasn't been the easiest thing to **** off,
haven't come back to end this until now.
     I walked in that door knowing I came to say goodbye.
will never be able to see you how I used to, after this.
will not make this any harder on myself.

the characters come rhythmic and steady,
left to right I start my morning.
key after key after key after key,
why am I still searching for you?

are you awake?   are you well?
if I go back, will you be able to tell?

tell me that you've missed me,
that you thought you saw me again,
and after all of this time and distance,
you still could call me a friend.

there is nothing you've left behind this morning,
for me to pick up and pick apart,
four tabs into a three hour shift,
and this is what it's come to.

are you awake?   are you well?
I haven't come back, but I have a story to tell.

she's got a father and a mother and a sister and grandpa and a grandma

she thinks she's lived this day before
but she tells herself that she hasn't 

she never sent that text before
until right now when it happened

she didn't crack that joke before
and she didn't have this pack of cigs

it wasn't Friday until today
and it will never be Friday again. 

but for now it is.

she's always going to be sixteen
even if she doesn't know it

she's always going to forget
but wants to go visit the graves

she'll never sleep without dreaming
unless she decides she can't bear it

she'll never forget his name
but, god, how she wants to

she'll never run out of cigarettes
as long as she doesn't cut her hair

but sometimes she thinks she might.

11/30/12

I can smell the sweat that clings to my cotton death.
they have already left for home.

shovel on another layer of debt and debris on top of my swollen body.
the coffee kept me alive to dig out of my grave, and here I am.
 
I can smell the air that ran through our lungs when we were children.

an hour behind,
and the funeral service isn't ending,
pick up the black masks,
as we march out of here in tens.
this body is not dead.
this body is not dead.

we watched the sunset reflected in the marble of the tombstones,
let's dig him up,  let's get him clean
he walks among the living again

and I left my tears at the gate of the cemetery, these years climb off my back like weights we never knew we carried for so long.

through years and windowpanes that gather dust, mattresses given up for caskets, intravenous memories that leaked onto the floor

I smell the sweat that clings to my cotton death.
I am going to take it home.

the fire burned out and I followed you down.
I said "I don't think I'm right in the head."
and you smiled, I cringed, because I couldn't smile back.
the stars looked no different than the nights I spent alone.
but you hold me close, and squeeze my hand.
I would let you make all of my decisions for me,
and I will sleep here with you in the cold.

when the sun comes up, will I begin to see my future?
the years fly over the the treeline, just like birds.
the summer is leaving us, the leaves will fall.
I'll hold your hand and wish I hadn't,
and when I go quiet, if you loved me, you'll know what I won't say.
we finish our beers, toss the cans beneath the pine trees.

I dip my feet into the pool,
and the final drag of my cigarette says "you know what you're feeling."

the snow sticks to the one last pair of jeans you own,
stayed up to watch the sun come up again.

green tea isn't going to save you from the day's advances,
the hours pass like soldiers marching on in sickening waves.
every minute ticking off and disposing another wasted emotion,
I wore my sleeves down to drown me for the first time this year.

and the coffee is to blame,
for the sweat that gathers on the small of my back
sitting here and waiting just a little while longer.

and looking at my smile,
do you see how bad I am at faking it?
we had better make the coffee stronger.

4/1/13

that burning behind my eyes
and the sound of your laugh
that just rubs me the wrong way
I don't need to tell you anymore
I don't want to see your face

honey, you can slam the door any way you want, 
as long as you turn the lights off behind you,
and keep quiet.
we just have to get through this

so I send the smell of tobacco smoke across the room as an offensive weapon, you retaliate in kind. 
 
our alarms go off in the morning, and we both try to out sleep each other,  but I have work, I have cigarette cravings, I have nightmares.

I have three weeks until I am rid of you.

you sat right down and asked me,
don't you ever forget.
it was you that came by,
asking me for my forgiveness.

we were caught scrolling through our lifetimes,  but you caught me up in this.
couldn't the sunlight be enough for you?
why'd you have to save me with your smile?

don't act like this didn't happen sweetie,  
you'll never forget.
I've been singing along to love songs,
since before we first met.

I have dried my eyes and dyed my hair,
I have drank the wine and done it best.

you sat right down and asked me,
don't you ever forget.
it was you that came by,
asking me for my forgiveness.

good, you're starting to get disgusted
and the double life only takes away
from the beauty of the lie.
I think tonight we are dissolving.

I wouldn't want your innocence
I only wanted to share your pain
but where is it anymore?
with nothing left to comfort
I'm filling voids in vain.

who was supposed to end up bitter here?  
because I swear it wasn't me.

I'm coming right back to the curves of your smile.

and now I'm trying to decide if I should let you in on this little week of bedridden regret.

or we can carry on, both knowing how we'll end up in that bed together, laughing as we strip.

and I can carry on already knowing my smile will be fake,  as your hand touches my hip.  

keeping your eyes on the same little scars you knew I had. without having to wonder how I got them. 

and as soon I as I can,  I'll make
my impending exit, crawl right out of your bed.  it isn't my place to stay there.  

I don't want to know if you'd miss me

and in the morning I'd take a shower, thinking of just how much you must've had to drink last night,  and how it wouldn't have happened otherwise. 

so how do I know this is going to happen already?

so what does it tell you about yourself? 
can you see your future in the fogged up mirror
I used to write your name in
and do you like what it has to say? 

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed alone
for the rest of my life,
hair never washed, that certain little kind of pain that replaces any pills I've popped.

I swear I'm going to be sober for the rest of my life.

so what does it tell you about yourself?
I can tell you see yourself so many years from now,  with the same dead eyes and the same stupid scar on your neck. 

and can you see me through my bedroom window,  with all the lights turned on? can you see me as my younger self,  full of hope and singing along to every song that would you would grow up to poison? 

this isn't what I wanted for myself.
can you see that?

3-4-13

we are the same **** mistake
you and I 
I had imagined us as heartless
but I was wrong. 

somewhere along the lines of sobriety and insomnia
I gave it serious thought

our hearts are filled with love
for ourselves
for what we see ourselves becoming

the only difference between
you and I
is that you can live with yourself.
and I'm trying to atone
for sins I haven't yet committed.

cheap old seneca reds
half an hour before noon, above freezing.
sun is shining on campus.

this is my little doorstep of paradise
come sit down if you like,
and we can talk about it.

"I'm not smart enough"
just another one of the things you said.

and I can't help but think of how wrong you are.

perhaps you might've said "I'm emotionless"
and I could've believed it.

but "I'm not smart enough" , that's just untrue.

"not smart enough"

that's me, I suppose.
because I can't make my paychecks last the week,
or keep up on my homework.

I have only the slightest idea,
of what's going on in politics,
although I would be quite interested to find out.

I don't know how to build a computer, like you do,
I don't know of all the indie bands you listen to.

I've had ideas and dreams just as big as you ever did.
we just never had talked about it,
and if we did, you never took me seriously.

so don't give me that tired line "I'm not smart enough."
it's insulting to me, because I feel like I'm falling behind.

I'm no longer holding you responsible
for my salvation.

consider this your invitation to bow out
and we can leave as polite strangers.

it's an understatement I'm willing to make
we aren't friends, but we were once.

and I see you nowhere in my future
and I see you haunting in my dreams
and I see you in the library,
but I don't see you as my savior.

it's been so many months
and you're off the hook.
this isn't your problem;
because it isn't a problem anymore.

2-5-13

It's time for spring colors again,
for trees to bud, and snowy wet mud.
It isn't here yet today, but I'm waiting.

I smiled today, without telling myself that I had to.
I didn't hide from the sun.
and I noticed that the sky was as blue as your eyes.
but with a little bit less icy tones,
and a lot more love for me.

I can see stains on the window of every car.
I'm using myself as an ashtray.
The stereo is playing on, and my cigarettes long.
I'm not worried about you, or home, or health.
this is ambivalence we turned to gold.
I feel beautiful for once.
and once is forever.