I'll miss you
But most of all,
I'll miss how I was,
When I was,
With you.

Before you left,
Running away,
From the memory,
Of me,
And who you were.

May the light,
Of the morning sky,
Be tinged on,
Your eyes,
*Be filled with longing.

I watch you rip out my heart
And hold it in your hand
Taunting me.

I wait for you to make the choice
Let it gush out and die
Or simply stop the bleeding.

I want you to destroy me
because I know you'd enjoy it.

Rip me to shreds because that's what
I'll be if it means you loving me back together again.

And again.

And again.

What we've got is so horrible,
so painful, so honest, such a raw,
destructive, quality to what we call
"us" that it would almost be masochistic to go back.

Our brand of senselessness,
so alluring, and irresistibly passionate.

I cannot fathom the blandness of sanity.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.

you want to pretend that

these red-ink scratches are your kisses,

pressed into paper with your sweet perfume,

sealed with a wish.

— dearly beloved —

you used to call me something sweet,

falling like summer rain, and

pink glass buttons and butterfly wishes

and dreams could come true.



but rain falls to mud and letters are

trampled in the gutter, trash

my words, trash

you knew you'd be heard behind your whisky veil;

artillery doors don't hide secrets.

when the glass broke harlot-red lipstick

stained the rim, whisky ran through wax

and her skirts flew with her to the back room

to meet with her next little boy.

god, you were such a fool for  

breathy promises and clever fingers slipping through silk.

god, I was so stupid for you.



and now

you want to pretend your kisses are mine

that you can scratch x's in a row

to make me smile.

and I could scream and cuss and carve you a letter with knives

or I could turn a blinded eye

and cry.

she says turn down your music like

oh ****, let's just

twist the volume from

here to here

and everything's gonna be all right. like

those big-toothed snakes we used to dream of gonna

creep to her bedroom when they hear this

beautiful thunder in my window.

like if i turn my guitar to a whisper of static everything's

gonna disappear

in a puff of smoke and

—heavy hands be gone—

we can all breathe through this

tepid air

without something else to wrap around

and through every shivering

f

       r

     a

          c

              t

    u        

    r

       e.



because that's never going to work on me

again.