I had a friend once say in passing conversation that the best writing is spawned from the love making of heavy drug use and light sleep. Light as in none, none as in absolute zero. I guess I got it then, but I think I’m getting closer to it now.






- 2014

on what is now
i guess
a sunday,

i miss you. truly. painfully.
i wonder if you miss me
or if chicago has birthed
enough girls
to keep you
entertained
or maybe
interested

maybe
what i miss
has been dead
for quite.
some.
time.

about a year.
and a half. maybe
more?

and still,
through drawn-out-
annoyingly-long days,
which feel empty
without your presence

i miss you;
your shedding brown
on my shower walls,
twisted in the brushes,
static to my white sheets.

warmth
god that warmth.
i'm telling you
it's hard
to come by.

and jesus christ
your eyes;
so green,
and grey,
and blue,
like two planets i studied
through a telescope
that i never figured out
how to read.

i miss your like-hands
on my shoulder blades at night,
their grip on the
(to me)
terrifying
ground-shifting
bus ride
in the mornings.

and

i don't remember
your kiss,
but i bet anything
i miss that too.

does it happen in silence, with no one noticing until the time is up, or does it happen so loudly all other worldly sounds drown out?

does it go quickly? or slow enough to hurt for years?

does it leave behind hints of its sweetness, between the pages of books, woven in with the sheets, slipping through the saddest of dreams?

when love leaves, who does it leave behind?

do you lay on the floor
wishing for everything you had before?
When you get drunk
do you sit in your bed
thinking about things you wish you had said?
When you get drunk
do you take a nice knife
put it to skin and watch yourself slice?
When you get drunk
Do you stare at the ceiling
wondering if there’s some better feeling?
When you get drunk
do you lay on the ground
asking yourself why he stuck around?
When you get drunk
do you look in the mirror
promise that girl she'll see things much clearer?

I said I'd get away from this
yet find myself in sin

With men who work and use and
steal the parts of me once lived

I swore I'd leave this me behind
yet here she is tonight

I want to run but shriveled legs
can't go far in the night

The knife
has
a slowness about it.
Politeness, a kindness.
It has
a grace period.


The gun
absolutely
does
not.

I didn’t want to leave the small room where our memories tinted the pallid wall
or my bed with the comforter that sent me dreams of you
tapering my legs, the visions pulled up and through

or your long veins that wrapped around me like a spiders silky coffin
holding me until the bad dreams were forgotten

the black and shy-green feathers watched us as we watched them
they spun and spun and blew in non-existent wind

I liked our late night paper plates and milk stained cups
I couldn’t ever get enough

I didn’t want the yellow shine to leak up my walls
but the sun came like clarity

and I realized a world outside my bedroom called

*-MJS

I want the hold of holiness
whatever that may be

Tightly wrap and warm my heart
that's longing to be free

I need your hold of holiness
whoever you may be

Searching for them
with such forced grin

Will I be holy?

Admiring the past
Belonging to the bottle
Cowering behind written word
Down my throat you go
Enough to make them gag
Feeling lonely, new, and lost
Growing in reverse
Hoping for rebirth
Inside, I am hollow
Just waiting to be filled
Killing myself slowly, but it feels so warm
Let love find me here
Maybe someone new
None other than him, even now
Only that gapped smile, with me on this couch
Pulling me back
Questioning mistakes
Recovery     can     be slow
Still, I wake up every day
Talk to me, I dare you
Until wasted eyes are shut
Vows I took, I broke, 100 times again
Ways I want to forget
X amount of times I've tried
You will grow, please know you can be more

There’s a fan but no air

There’s books but no words

A someone but no consciousness

A comfy bed but no sleep