there is something to be said
for those of us who communicate
with braile fingers
brushing against skin
in the dark.
there is something to be said for the lost causes,
the chain smokers,
the boy with alibis up and down his throat and
so thick with longing
for the girl he used
to fuck for laughs
but now he knows those
laughs were memories he'd
never get back.
there's a hole in the ceiling
where you fell after a drunken night where you tried to find yourself
but instead found rock bottom
when your body hit the floor.
there's a shallow
whisper in the woods
outside my house when
the wind blows through
the trees
and it sings the same chorus
over and over,
and the words are
"you fucked up but it's too late to turn back now"
there's nothing
in the cavity that I used
to call my chest and
that's because you claimed
I was broken and
you spent so much time trying to rearrange my mind
you lost a few pieces
and they're nowhere
to be found.
there's something
in the blue of the moon in
October that simply
outshines the sun
and I think that's a good metaphor
for you
because not everyone
stays out long enough to appreciate that the things that happen
in the night
make the day look like
child's play.
you were all but a lost boy
and I lost myself
trying to find you
and now there's a whole
where we both used to live
and the only thing there
is a music box that
plays the songs
you used to sing to me.
there's nothing left
but symphonies that
scream forgiveness
but there is still
a quiet in the chaos
and it makes me second guess myself
for second guessing.
I'm more tossed up
than the boat
that crashed on the waves you made when you first said my name.
there's a million
broken stoplights
where a
"fuck you"
turned red
green
and I woke up
and realized that
the fantasies we lived in are
ghost towns now.