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my love was born in the winter time. the crunch of frosted grass, the morning's dark and quiet- an endless sleep, but i am always awake. i love this life in the winter time. my lover was born in the winter time.
music for dead people S:2 E:1
winters in indianapolis with you
the places and the strange feelings they give off,
the music plays in the streets as the snow falls.
the mattress is on the floor,
it’s cold.
you take up most of the blanket.
skipping class to sleep in your bed,
warm showers
skin soft and fleshy
ignited
a text read at 2:30 a.m.
i miss getting ****** on the regular.
now all i have is pbr and silence at parties
autumns in Bloomington without you.
hugging the blanket after you leave.
it’s a hazy Sunday morning
looking at an empty seat across from me on the bus
how dark your eyes are in the moonlight
a void expanding
it felt like we were on the edge of a nuclear war
as the smoke from outside the brick house covered your face.
i don’t know how to tell you.
as if it really means much.
you always have to leave in the morning
no matter how much we both want you to stay.
but there’s an urgency,
the world might end for us tomorrow
and you won’t know.
the next week i am laying on decker’s cold apartment floor,
missing winters in Indianapolis with you.
forgetting how all of our favorite coffee shops closed down,
and the icy streets that never seemed to melt.
the sun will rise tomorrow and it will sit in the back of my head.
dark eyes long hair and the box of hamms you lugged up to nick’s apartment.
the old couch you slept on.
our drunken laughs.
how I wouldn’t tell you
because I wanted to do it sober.
the way you say goodbye in the morning.
you might be it.
you might be.
I watch the fields in Ohio turn from a soft brown to a decadent grey
as the ashes fall to the ground and consume you
waiting as the brown pools in the bottom of your mouth
As the soil pushes through-
stiff at the shoulders
soft in the stomach
I felt us become attached at the hip
as I asked you to pull the car over
So I can smoke a cigarette and stare at the moon.
how are you so bright and full?
like a streetlight hitting hard cold concrete
how could you make the stiffness so soft?
as the glow expands over the fields
I look at you, and the shadows of the dead trees
how wonderful they will come back to life in the summer
and so will we-
with our sunkissed knees
and the peeling of the skin
Softness smoothness
the most Vulnerable we will be near each other this year
stiff at the shoulders
Soft at the stomach
the fields stretch from Ohio to Virginia.
I wonder how I could apologize to you without saying any words.
without ******* myself
so I just point to the moon and hope it will be summer soon.
Hope that our skin will peel till it’s raw and fleshy,
And the soil will fall at our feet
as apologies.
the lighting bugs dancing around us.
I wonder if it will happen as I had once hoped.
there is no humane way to harm an animal
i say as you smoothly run the knife over my stomach
i am spilling out all over you
as you roll your cigarettes and touch my *******-
you do not look at the photographs i take
you do not read my poems
i am only a skeleton to you.
mount me on your wall
there is no humane way to ****** an animal
Tear into my flesh
Watch my body rot.
As it stretches and rolls and turns a pale green-
You know there is no humane way to ****** an animal-
But you like the taste.
I can smell it
The death dripping from yr mouth
deep crimson making a home for itself on your t-shirt
now,
It is 2:39 a.m. in west virginia,
You’ve been sitting in yr car for 2 hours.
On your phone searching for the perfect flowers
And how to repent for your sins
Jesus sits on the cross-
The cemetery is an hour away.
Smoke another cigarette-
You’ve got time.
back on my *******
theres loneliness inside me.
very very deep down.
i can hear static when i look down at the ground.
the ice and snow mixing together
i can feel myself falling
its the most I’ve felt in a while.
i can see you from the ground here
you were drunk when you said it.
the whole thing about never leaving-
as you held my hand in the cold as the leaves were under our feet.
i am so used to watching you walk away.
counting the number of steps
until you are just a blurred figure.
i wonder what my mom would think
theres so much blood on my knees
as i shake,
and count
the number of steps
it takes me
to get
home.
why did you lie to me
i often dream of never waking up
my toes are sinking into the snow
watching the imperfect explosions in the sky.
there is no way to reach you from here.
you try to speak to me through the infinite spaces you found in the void
of internet forums we are both apart of.
i am trying to reach you from here.
as i try to figure out the exact pantone color of your eyes
so i can paint my apartment walls the shade of you i still remember.
i am shifting through the boxes,
drowning into the unfamiliar space i still cannot manage to call
home.
i am a shape shifter.
trying to mold into that one perfect sad song.
i am desperately trying to reach you from here.
really.
i am dead compared to you.
you’re so alive.
i am calling from the grave,
in the poems and the songs i write.
you are the sunrise i wake up to in the morning,
you are the color draining away from my skin
as i pour my black coffee and watch the birds go far away.
your eyes are PANTONE 19-0117 TPX-
vineyard green.
i don’t know if i’ll be here tomorrow
i don’t know if this place will ever feel like home.
and i don’t know if you can hear me.
snorting coke makes me feel closer to god
she sung to me as i turned the lights off
and walked out of the room,
an aching in my back.
the only year i can remember is 2014,
before you grew your hair out,
and i didnt know your real name.
my sister is in her bedroom asleep.
having ******* dreams mixed with codeine.
i want to die in your basement.
as the footsteps are over my head,
we wont be sleeping tonight,
i’ve stopped getting high.
the only year i can remember is 2014,
and how your lips were cold.
and the times i lied and told my mother i was sick,
so i could lay in bed
and pretend the sheets were your arms.
but since then-
i have learned my bedsheets cannot touch my face and kiss my cheeks.
i am not in love with you anymore.
as flowers rot in-between my toes
and i watch explosions on tv screens.
nothing is real.
the only year i can remember is 2014.
i am not alone.
you are making me hot chocolate
and looking at the snow through your window
as the granite countertops reflect your figure,
i am holding onto to nothing-
and there is nothing all that important in my life I’m afraid of letting go of.
i let our knees touch in your basement.
i am completely vulnerable,
you are close to me.
but now you feel so far away, as i see you there by the pine trees.
i want to tell you how there is so much i remember about you that has been
sitting dormant in my head,
and how every moment with you seemed so beautiful, and how you will always mean so much to me.
the only year i remember is 2014.
we are meeting for the first time,
and i barely know anything about you,
not even your real name.
not even what your voice sounds like.
i sit next to you as you show me your favorite songs.
and i tell you about my favorite things,
as the autumn leaves fall on concrete,
the suburbs feel endless.
my voice doesn’t shake around you.
i don’t think much of it,
maybe you just make me feel different.
maybe i knew i’d have a tough time letting you go,
maybe i still am.
for many years,
i told myself we met at the wrong time,
now i am not so sure of that.
it is November 2014
and i am crying in your parents basement
i cant remember anything that had happened that year,
i was so alone,
but i feel you put your head next to mine.
i have something important in my life i am holding onto,
and do not want to let go of.
i should’ve held on tighter.
its December 8th 2017,
and I’m sitting in my dorm room,
throwing cigarettes into my trash can,
they have been making me feel sick.
all i can remember is 2014,
and how much every moment meant to me.
the girl i loved back then isn’t real anymore.
i see her sometimes, but she is different.
i am glad.
i pull my covers over my head,
knowing i am missing someone who was never really mine in the first place,
and doesn’t exist now and maybe never did.
i have nothing left to hold onto,
and nothing I’m afraid of letting go of.
i am alone.
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