I should leave here
but there's a hole needs burying

- a mountain of memories
and a thousand miles of pain -
it still smells like you
even after it rains

At the table by the window
where you used to read -
there's a whiskey bottle
that I'm trying to put away

There - is a hole that needs burying
one of these days.

r ~ 9/1/14

I still find myself
feeling your skin
in the spaces between
bed-sheet creases

and if
missing you is like
swerving into
oncoming traffic,
then tonight
I’m sleeping
in the road.

I called. But you did not answer.
I left.
Said "I am ready"
Therefore, I love you.
I am caught between.
I have come from Point A to Point B-
Point A being days in the city.
Point B; it knows no bounds.
The distance between called.
I will give what I don't have.
Will be.
Angry.
I should know by now.
Foolish.
I want.
There is nothing more.
I have never been whatever this is.
I feel like loneliness.

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Let's never talk again,
because if we do
we'll both fall apart
in each others arms
and when that happens,
we can never be held again.

'Go around to the back door' you said.
'I hid the key under a sheet.
Go around to the back door
I know the gate is locked,
look underneath'
That night I was stumbling.
Clung to you.
Longed for my body.
For any other body.
I lingered somewhere in between.
Felt like someone had stolen me,
walked in my skin.
Who is this thief?
This robber?
'She was alive' you said.
Then what am I?
The next morning,
I had no memory.
I laid in bed all day.
You went away.
The silence was sickening.

My mother asked me:  
"What was he thinking?"
"What did he see?"
I couldn't tell her.
I couldn't speak.
I wanted the words to fall.
I wanted them to be free.
I couldn't think.
I just kept staring.
Blankly.
Hoping the moment would pass me by.
And that my mother wouldn't ask me why.
"What does he think of you?"
Why don't you ask him?
God knows I don't know.
Everything's a question,
up in the air.
Everything's uncertain.
Everything's unfair.
He keeps on sleeping.
And I keep on dreaming.
It reoccurs to me,
that somehow I keep breathing.
I can't be the only one who doesn't know we don't exist.
Who feels we've lost ahold of this.
My mother asked me.
I couldn't tell her.
I couldn't speak.
Will you tell me
so I can tell her
what you think?

Say your plane was going down.
Say you took your medicine.
Would you sleep through turbulence again?
Say you knew two months before.
That you'd be lying on the floor.
Would you wake
in heaven?

What man or woman would you call?
Would you be awake to feel the fall?

Say you were to meet a friend
For coffee
at half past ten.
Say you stood up
and then-

Say the plane you didn't catch.
Came down upon her
and crashed.
Say the things you wouldn't say to me.
To them.

All the bodies on the ground.
All the blood and screaming sounds
just like you will sound to me
four months from now.

If we stood in ash and dust.
What would we let cover us?
Would the rain keep falling?
Or would we rust?

Who could know it'd end like this?
We swerved towards the precipice.
We went through the windshield.
We went through the glass.
I swear this is the last time
I will ever ask.

Now that we are comatose.
Now that we are deja vu.
Will you give a name to me?
Can I give a name to you?

We are rubble.
We are rocks.
We won't help you.
We'll just watch.