We are all
just lifetimes
searching for
       infinities.
     And the broken
    parts or who
we were
      should never
          be excluded
   from the beauty
of what we
are.
     -Andrew Durst

I've come to accept that all of my worries about tomorrow and how I'll be remembered yesterday
has manifested itself into something far greater than stress.
And I know living with this
            state-of-mind
can only make every situation worse instead of ever getting better.
But right now,
       in this moment,
                     I am okay.

And that is good
enough for me.

Dear Talia,


My mattress is tattooed with your scent.

You held me as I slept.

You kissed my forehead and told me you love me.

You whispered three syllables into my mouth. You create waves in me that wash away cigarette burns. I would hold you tight in the unforgiving night.

I want to drink cheap coffee with you as you smile between each sip and as I master the art of looking at your smile. I want to make love with you like it's going out of style and until our lungs are burning like California wildfire.

I want to evaporate into your breath.

We were side by side in a bed made for us, and I fell asleep in your arms, listening to the calm of your breathing and the frantic beat of your heart.

Your fingers weaved through my hair, and I counted heartbeats, hoping never to stop.

My brain is soup and my hands are worn down from hours of typing your name. Talia. Talia. Talia Betourney.

I want to rock in and out of your body, as you kiss my lips with precise lightning strikes. After you shock me, time and time again, I want to wonder if the lightning misses the sky.

I am flustered and as I type this, I lose control of my thoughts as I become swept into your green-eyed, dark haired heaven. I cannot dream a better dream than your reality. I want to kiss you for every gasp I've never been around for and for every moment of pain. I am not here to save you, though: I am here just to love you.

Your hands swallowed mine, as I was closest to your body. My eyes drank the darkness, and my mind escaped.

In my sleep, you told me you love me. When I woke up, you told that panther something and I wanted to know what his ears heard that mine didn't.

You wouldn't say, and your hands grew slight tremors, the same way farmers grow slight weeds.

We started to kiss like our lips were the antidote. You whispered into my mouth. I asked what you said, being able to make most of it out.

You said, "Nothing." But, baby, that wasn't nothing. That was everything.

After a few minutes, I told you that I made out most of it and that it was okay.

You turned to your side, and your hands shook. I love you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you. Turn back to me. Look at me. Hey.

"It's okay. It's okay, and it's going to be okay, because I love you, too," I said to you, as I looked into your eyes, seeing myself.

You smiled.

We kissed like famine was non-existent, and like the apocalypse was imminent. End my world with every kiss, revive me with every flick of the tongue. Wash me with lava, and give me acid to drink; nothing could **** me in that moment, except the batting of your eye lashes.


I wrote you this poem and it *****, but it spilled out of my fingers after you left:

In a far and distant galaxy, there is a father for you, and a father for me       
And a silver car for you and I; driving underneath the alone-grey sky.
And a blue soul that learns to be happy.
And our blood will dye the Dead Sea.
And underneath a together-old tree, our young love will try.

And while our muscles are far from weak,
we will kiss until our mouths are dry.
We will kiss for an entire week. We will kiss until we forget how to cry.

Our brains will tell us we’re irresponsible.
Our hands will shake from all the trust.
You chew on my lip like I’m impossible.
You’ll ******* blood; I taste like rust.


How you could be afraid of my not loving you escapes me.

Don't you know why my heart beats so fast?

Today was the first day we said that we love each other. I hope it isn't the last, because I love you very much, and I don't think my mouth can go a day without knowing those words.


Yours,

Josh

My dad dug his foot into my back like a shovel breaking soil.
If I do enough push ups, can I put a smile on your face.
If I move the earth for you, will meteors stop me.

I carried sparklers in my hands while cannon-kisses erupted in the sky,
and my cousin swore that I'd hurt myself.
But I explained to him that history repeats itself,
and that my hurt is unavoidable.

Like the hug of a grieving grandmother,
and the staring off into space,
as her tears stain my white oxford lie.
There's no way to get out of this place.
Finding new ways to live in death.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.

And her fingers left a ******* on my back.
And my mouth melted onto hers.
I love her until my eyes **** in sleep.
And it's deep. And it's deep.

The swirl of the ceiling sank down
like a child being drowned by his mother.
And I missed my brother, and I missed it all.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.
No, not anymore.

Dear Talia,

I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.

The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.

This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.

I want it to be Christmas already.

The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.

I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.

I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.

You.

It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.

I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:

I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.

My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."

I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.


I hope that was okay.

I love you.


Yours,

Joshua Haines

You pull on my lip like an aircraft emergency oxygen system.
Our engines catch fire
as our tongues flutter like the wing's peeling metal,
and as our eyes peek at one another
between each plane crash of lips.

We've lost cabin pressure
as we can no longer control our bodies.
We gasp for each other's breath
as our shimmering structures
roll around on the sky of my bed.

We kiss like we've only got seconds left,
when in reality,
these moments will never die
even if we do.

Hands, plural to make us one
Near the end of August the heat told me to stop
It's vicious, wanting you
No milder than the jaws of winter

And every person not you cuts
On the street, our wounded lips
Before October and on silver screens
Your face projected on everything

You wanted the cinema, I thought
So I spoke fumbled niceties at your door
But the camera was stuck in my eye

And the words I scripted shifted into your mouth
The breaths I take, the breaths I shout
Your smile corroded in the rain
Your endless longing,
My endless shame

It keeps me in this thought
That what I feel has no name
But the credits crept up with the dregs of December
Money is noisy, and I liked your quietudes

But the snow will blanket my blood-buoyant bright
And I will drown into night
To lay by you until dawn
To lay by you until you are gone