John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

Godhood sickens me,
set my hands ablaze,
free my brain,
I want to cry no more,
I always had trouble holding my *****,
be an Angel.

Today I woke up,
and put my pants on backwards.
Today I sat down,
and drank coffee out of a pipe.
Today I got up,
and ripped my socks wide open.
Today I ate food,
and it sat with me like an elephant.
Today I laughed,
and my makeup smeared.
Today I cried,
and I **** near bust a gut.
Today I got bored,
and then I stopped being bored.
Today I went to sleep,
and I stopped calling it "today."
Today I dreamed,
and I couldn't move well.

Today went just as I expected.

She's the kind of girl who
locks the bathroom door
in her own house
when she showers.

I would pray to whichever God
that could make me the water
that runs down her neck,
and every other part of her,
down to the drain.

I want him to like my lipstick
and ask to kiss it off.

I want to take him
with me as I time travel

with a soul full of
futurelust so strong

it dims
and relieves

the cruel lights
of
all others.

"That's a lot of eyes."
"What, two?"
"No. Well."
"What?"
"I think you have more
      than just two..."
"What?
     No,
          I have two."
"That's not what I meant."
"Okay."
"I know
      that you know
                what I meant."
       "Maybe..."
"Don't maybe me."
"Sorry."

"What do you see now?"
"Now?"
"Right now."
     "******* everything."
"How so."
"Lots of eyes,
      remember?"
"Mmhmm."
"Well,
            you asked."
"What does everything
       mean?"
"I don't know,
       but i see it.
                                         All of it."

I was right outside
when she pulled the trigger

and I remember

crashing sound, in my head
my knees, my shoulder blades. A turbulent din
heart beating like a cave collapsing
air desperate to escape from my lungs

and silence.

Light falling away,
slowly like snowflakes
with the weight of dusk
and me standing
staring at the holes that were in everything.

Suddenly, everything was a mountain.

and I remember                        it

---------------------------------------------------------------­

I sit here and watch as if I couldn’t reach out and touch it
Can I?
The decay is not in your heart or your mind, it is in your soul.
Its coming out on your face. Gray stains forming around your eyes.
How do you get rid of that?
Your playful (terrified, i’m so scared, i’m scared) voice.

In 3am empty
sitting on the floor by the window gasping for air.
How can I reach out and touch that?
I watch the nights wash you pale with insomnia.
Strings of black hair. White face. Cold morning light.
How can I reach out and touch that?

I sit here across from you at the table, watching your eyes look through me.
Words are coming out of you that I don’t understand.
Words that don’t fall on deaf ears
but on deaf hands
making me suffer like I was paralyzed.
Your lips barely move as you speak.

There’s a sharp edge to this
its cutting the line between consciousness and sleep
you’re saying
The days have been good to me
you’re saying
I am just going to get older.

I can feel it in me
death is in me,
and I cannot
get it out

For a moment it is quiet. You sit there, like something meant to be on its own \
and I sit here, like an empty chair.
How could I reach out and touch that?
My mouth opens
Be okay.
I’m saying

Please be okay.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------

its gradual            ,           the darkness is invading me
filling the back of my eyes
the depths of  my ears
the pores of my skin
until I die.

I take another dragging breath.
feel my bones bend the wrong way
too far

These days feel so old
this sky is so heavy
this wet air tastes so much how it did
last winter sinks in.

and I remember                   it       so well    .

---------------------------------------

today, a new offense
I could not believe it
the sun pulled itself up out of the ground
without you

january sun
light without bright
day without warmth,
burning as dull as a nightmare remembered
following a shallow line that is far from equinoctial

time passes like strangers faces on the street

already,      fall falling falling
a falling scattered hush
night, again

I'm not saying you shouldn't dream, just,
this isn't the place.

I know how she wakes you up in the morning,
like she's got somewhere to go that's important
and you're already, a day or two or eight, late.

Your handwriting reminds me of chocolate chip pancakes
and the smell of rain through an open window in February.
You shouldn't press down so ******* your eraser.
It confuses people. Always sounding like sneakers
rubbing against linoleum and it's misleading when
you have feelings you can't explain and you've
been waiting for what feels like three days without
taking a ****, but you're waiting because you don't
want to miss something important, and even though
it hurts the way bee stings, and paper cuts, and
too many donuts after dinner hurt,
you hold it.

It's hard to keep my eyes open.

thinking of you on the nights we didn't sleep,
or the ones where we would sleep wide awake
but we wouldn't talk.
I'd talk. you would listen.
you liked it and I needed it, so it made sense
for us to be in the same room.
I got lost in something you asked me to explain.

"time to dance,"

your reason:

"No one's watching, just let go."