The buzzed people
burn out on the street.
It's four a.m.
and cold toes are leaving imprints
on the concrete face
where the drunks and the homeless
beg for help
and for the past to change.

You, me, and every one we've met,
lean on the side of the tattooed bar,
smoking cigarettes that stain our lips,
slurring words that escape our souls.

You're wearing
Black Chuck Taylor All-Stars,
as we stand underneath
the black, starry sky.
You tell me,
as you put out the cherry
with your wet thumb,
that, "I busted my cherry
while riding my bike.
I hit a bump, then another,
and another."

We kiss and you whisper,
"It sounds better than the truth, right?"
I feel overwhelming sadness,
as I look at your freckles,
your speckled irises,
and I want to believe
the manufactured ignorance
that the world offers
and you take,
saying, "Of course, love."

her bare knuckled eyes punch you
with the kind of hard hitting softness
that makes lesser men weep
shes one of a kind
in her junk food fashion clothes
that makes other girls hungry for her looks
shes eccentric in fun ways
dumpster dives for baubles and dimes
she is a work of art in the light that shines
she is most delicious when she just smiles
and cool peppermint when she just licks her lips
so let her show you the nirvana of her eyes
let her kiss your sorrows away
let your tomorrows be hers
let your world be her romance story

"she's a bad friend, just a heads up.
I know she seems really great
and fun and understanding.
she's like that, at first.
she'll be positive and friendly, and you'll feel like you can trust her with your most-prized possession.
you'll want to tell her things, even if you're not a very open person.
she has that effect on people.
after a while, though, she starts to seem rough around the edges.
she'll go through very dramatic
mood swings-
she's a bit like the weather in NYC.
sometimes she'll be cheerful
and she'll laugh at the most
random of things.
those times, she'll be like a fresh spring day, around 72 degrees.
other times, she'll be the most pessimistic person you know. it'll feel like she's draining the positivity right out of you. those times, she'll be like a bitter winter's day, below zero and freezing.
on occasion, she'll change
back and forth between those
two seasons in a day.
it'll get to be very tiring for you,
trying to keep up with her many moods and feelings and attitudes.
you won't really know how
to handle her.
and eventually, it'll feel like she's
not really handling you.
she won't talk to you as often as she used to. she wont know what's happening in your life anymore, and you won't be able to remember the last time she told you about anything happening in hers.
eventually, you'll be the only one putting effort into the relationship.
but you'll continue to see her with other friends, laughing and sharing inside jokes and telling stories.
and it'll be so painful for you, because you're technically
still friends with her- it's not like
you had a fall-out or anything.
things will just be different between you two. she'll be distant, and so will you.
eventually, you'll just stop trying
to talk to her. all you'll do is smile briefly at each other in the hallways, sometimes talk for a few minutes about classes.
and it'll almost seem like you're strangers again.
so if I were you, don't bother with her. find someone worthy of your time and love and affection."

I tried to galvanise.
I've got your smile carved in my eyes
But it's all I can do
Not to forget you
'Cause I'm dying from the outside in
I'm dying from the outside in

I onced tried to forget
But found myself faced with regret
And it's all I can do
When your image sticks to me like clue
And I'm dying from the outside in
I'm dying from the outside in

I've lost my balance
It seems to be chronic
My mind is not made up about you
I'm hungry give me Gin & Tonic

It's fun to play pretend
But this has got to end
I'm trying to replace you
But I've got this mental issue

I guess we'll just stay friends
Until this unnamed feeling ends
You'll be oblivious
That I long for one more kiss
  
And I'm dying from the outside in
I'm dying from the outside in

In the light, he no longer calls you "baby." He no longer thinks it's cute that you can't stop your hands from shaking. He no longer tells you it's okay to stay in bed; he starts pulling the sheets off of you, yelling "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET BETTER." In the light, you can see the outlines of his cheeks and the way his eyes look down at you and you can tell he never really loved you. In the light, he's packing his bags and driving his car away. Things aren't as simple when the sun is shining through your window - everything is so much clearer. In the dark, you could pretend you were okay because he couldn't quite make out the frown on your face or your shaky hands or what those prescription bottles read. Now he can look at you clearly and he doesn't like what he sees.

Maybe the hardest part is not knowing what happens after; when the routines have to get back to normal. Or what once was normal. And walking around wondering how you're going to keep walking with this huge chunk of your life gone because even though there is less, it weighs on you like a ball and chain around your ankles and and anvil on your shoulders. Where there was once a warmth is now cold air so you're reaching out for a guide but your guide has long since left.

Like picking up the phone
being greeted by a dial tone
the reciever hanging over the edge
eyes filled with dread

Maybe the hardest part is looking in the mirror and thinking about the way he was always there even when there were more shadows than open spaces. You listen to the overlapping voices and still only hear white noise. The same story over and over but it never sinks.

Like a broken television
with the same frequency
on repeated patterns with
an antenna broken

Maybe the hardest part is rushing. Rushing to speed up time that drags itself in the snow. Rushing for peace. For you. For him. For her. For them. Rushing for absolution, for an end to an end, for burying the hatchet. The flower arrangements, the casket wood, the burial, the eulogy.

Like swerving into small spaces
burning rubber and barely
missing the onlookers to finally
get it all done

Maybe the hardest part is catching your breath once  there's nothing left. Once they're gone. Once you tell yourself that it's time. It's time to move on.

I know they say a person dies twice; once when they physically stop living and again when someone says their name for the last time. But I believe they die a third time; and that is when the last memory of them ceases to exist.

Today I crave something
Soft. Her warm skin against
My face. Softly whispered
Commands, such as

Come. Rest. Dream. Feel
Safe. Her warm hands; fingers
Whispering kisses on my back as I
Drift away,

But remain inside.
These concrete floors, brick walls,
Ice cold steel of tools, all
Unfriendly; unwelcoming.

I am a child unwilling to be
Born into it all.
Let me stay
Inside,

Where everything is soft.
Soft as strands of silken fog on  
Water. Soft as a grandmother's
Love, monastery choir song,

An infant's evening prayers,
Teddybears and doll's hair.
Zen poetry; fields of flowers.
Mountain dreaming itself unstone.

"I cannot remember the last time I loved the girl in my bed,"
He said to me one day while I was dreaming.
I opened my eyes and looked out the window,
Jumping from one dream to another,
But then, I blinked and looked back at him,
My dreams shattering around me,
For I was his wife, and always the girl in his bed.