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Nov 2012 · 684
Unraveling
Sespoquet Nov 2012
How can I wear my favorite sweater
when you are still holding on to a loose string?
Nov 2012 · 2.5k
Unfair
Sespoquet Nov 2012
It is useless
To put a love worth more than fire
In the vicinity of a child.
Small hands catching embers
Like snowflakes.
Feet powdered with ashes
Will only ruin his mother's dress.

No one can keep two eyes
On their brother's treasure
Without dreaming of islands.
White sand outlining
The future of the red hands.
A future lived extravagantly
In an empty beach house.

Unfair,
To a world filled with hypocrisy,
For lovers to live like angles.
Cynical souls will never grasp
A hand as beautiful as yours.
Company, confused in confession,
Lost in self-loathing,
Cannot behold eyes of the
Darkest forest green.
Skin subsides for saber teeth,
Not worthy enough for your lips.
It is unfair to the world
That you are mine.
I found a lone pearl in a grave
Of broken glass.
Oct 2012 · 1.2k
owt-ytrof
Sespoquet Oct 2012
Jeremiah refused to be rescued in mixed company.
I threw a going away party
in the hopes of his failing resurrection.
Pseudo somber faces filled the kitchen,
made up with pictures of rustic barns
and floral wallpaper;
the heat became too much to bear.

Our friends payed homage,
placing regifted bottles of
coop and kraken
on the mantle,
and wrote letters of congratulations
signing their names backwards
in my guest book.
The day lost its luster
and coffee mugs of champagne
ran empty.

Conversations danced
around truth and honesty
escaped out the window.
I saw a stranger in the corner.
His name tag read Sinner
and his guilt left ink
on his forearms.
I asked him to read my palm
and he confessed how much
he loved wakes.

My laughter shattered the static.
Sep 2012 · 490
me + you = them
Sespoquet Sep 2012
You were everything I ever wanted.
You were everything I ever wanted.
I was everything you ever wanted.
You were everything I ever needed.
I was everything you needed.
They were everything you ever wanted.
I was everything you ever wanted.
You were everything I ever needed.
They were everything you ever needed.
They were everything I never wanted.
You told me they were everything you never wanted.
I believed that I was everything you always wanted.
I believed I was everything you ever needed.
You were everything they ever wanted.
You were everything they ever needed.
I was everything you hated.
I was everything you never needed.
I was everything you wanted.
I was nothing you wanted.
I was everything you wanted.
I was nothing you wanted.
They were nothing that you needed.
I was everything you needed.
I was everything you wanted.
I am nothing that you need.
I am nothing that you need.
You are nothing that I need.

You are everything I ever wanted.
You are nothing that I need.
Aug 2012 · 1.2k
Chinatown
Sespoquet Aug 2012
I asked my friends to look after my house
while I was away.
I left a forwarding address
and nothing else.
A few asked how long I would be gone,
and I said I wasn't sure.
I don't know much more than my middle name.

My mother called,
breaking the silent drive I was enjoying.
She asked if I was still with Schyler.
I told her I didn't know,
and that she would have to call him
after his date.
I've heard she is a respectable woman.

I checked into the Chinatown motel
and tipped the bell hop after he retrieved my mail.
Not that I appreciated his services;
I hoped he would save his earnings and leave.
No one deserves to grow up here.

One letter was from my neighbor
asking for a postcard.
I sent my bill, hoping that was enough.

The second was from my brother,
his letter of resignation and a simple request
with a time constraint:
You have two weeks to make everything right.

While looking for a black pen
I found a green answer,
and the returning question of why
blue and red make white,
and not the beautiful purple hue
Schyler talked about so often.
I wondered if he had forgotten the color of my eyes.

I ran out of time and spent all my money
with no souvenirs to showcase back home.
Schyler seemed hesitant when I gave him
a date of my return,
and I lied when I said I missed his embrace.
I left a note on my pillow
appologizing for the mess
and said that I would be back next year.

My excuse to return the stolen towels.
Aug 2012 · 804
Younger
Sespoquet Aug 2012
Grandpa used to run down the sidewalk as we drove away.
Anything to make the grand kids happy.
But he was younger
And I was younger,
And the willow tree wasn't fully grown yet.

Puddles always remind me of silky nightgowns
And a backyard that was my wonderland.
But that was when my grandmother was younger
And I was younger,
And words were still beautiful.

Driving away is a cheap escape,
I can't afford much.
I am trapped as being younger
Because when I was younger
My mother told me I had no means of survival.
Aug 2012 · 645
Drunk Clarity
Sespoquet Aug 2012
Tonight was the first night the stars were moving and I wasn't.
I was lying on a brick wall separating me from myself
while you were living in a tree house.

Who calls at midnight?
The lonesome rider looking for his soul.

I drank you through a straw,
not to prove you are a chameleon
but to show you the dance of the chameleon.
I move my hands too much as I dance through the fire.
I have to dance to make sure I'm still here.

Why do people still climb onto their roofs?
To distance themselves from their bedrooms.

A car can be empty when filled with gasoline.
Burning rubber on burning cement on burning money.

How can the gas burn in the spring?
Watch any teenager unzip their pants.

I can only sleep with a pillow on my back.
Reassuring me that I am not alone in my fully empty bed.
I've hung crosses sideways to understand art.
I am not right or left or up or down or oblique or black or white.

Why do people change their names?
To prove that they can change and still be who they are.
Which is what they are.
They are the same changes.

Why do people write birthday cards?
To mail to your relatives,
not your family.

Why do you close your eyes when you kiss?

Why do you cook for one and eat for two?

How can a tree bend in the sunlight?

Why do you say I love you and not look me in the eyes?

You're not Jesus Christ.
You're Peter.
Aug 2012 · 2.2k
The Office
Sespoquet Aug 2012
I watch Laura through our adjoining office window
and pray to any god that will listen that she won't pick up the receiver.

I hope my glare burns the cord that...
******.

  Good morning, Mr. Prater.  My names is Laura and I'm calling from Vector Supplies.
    How are you doing today?


Her screech of a voice causes the hair on my arms to stand up.
Her laugh should be one of the layers of hell.

  Hello?  Mr. Prater?

Another customer dropped the call.
If someone with that voice called my home I would demand the manager
and accuse the caller of huffing helium, trying to get high.

She's the worst salesperson in this office.
Frankly, no one is great here.
At least we're better than the northern branch.

The boss, Mr. Leckman, opens the door and slithers into her office.

  Laura, I saw that another customer hung up.

  I'm sorry, Mr. Leckman.  I promise I'm trying.

  Try being more perky like I know you can.

Oh ****.  Don't encourage her you *****.

  And Laura, you can call me Ted, remember?

  Yes, Mr. Leckman.  I mean Ted.

Her giggle almost broke the glass of our window,
and if it had, I would have slit my wrists with the shards.
No hesitation.

I'm still watching the horror show,
and that's when I saw it:

He winked.

That *****.  I knew she was ******* him.
That's the only reason why she's still here.

Sadly, I was interrupted mid-strangle fantasy when Mr. Leckman,
or Ted, barged in.

  Ms. Dunn, get back to work.

  Sorry, Ted--uh, Mr. Leckman.

He had shut the door before I could correct myself.
Great.  I'm sure I'll get fired by the end of this week.
I need this ****-up of a job.  
It's one of the few places that doesn't make you
**** in a cup before you sell your soul.

Maybe I should bend over more often.
Aug 2012 · 905
Envy
Sespoquet Aug 2012
I
  get
    frustrated
      with
        time
          spent
            with
          friends
        I
      could
    care
  less
about.
  It
    must
      be
        punishment
          for
            an
              irrevocable
                sin
                  I
                    have
                      forgotten
                        over
                          the
                            years.
                          Karma
                        strikes
                      at
                    dawn
                  ripping
                me
              from
            bed,
          from
        legs
      intertwined
    after
  a
nightly
  cause
    and
      effect
        of
          adoration.
            There
              is
                no
                  hoarding,
                    no
                      trickling
                        of
                          seconds
                            into
                              the
                                new
                                  sun.
                                    There
                                       is
                                         only
                                           residue
                                             left
                                               on
                                                 time
                                                   piece.
                                                     A
                                                       reminder
                                                         of
                                                           the
                                                             inescapable
                                                               labrinth
                                                                 where
                                                                    my
                                                                      mind
                                                                        loses
                                                                          direction.

I envy the free.
Aug 2012 · 592
Naked at Sea
Sespoquet Aug 2012
The sea was in front of me
and the sea was behind me,
and that was all there was.*

The waves applauded my entrance and
washed the sand from my lost feet.
I was neck deep in a majestic dream,
and the sandman was on my side.
The salt licked every inch of my skin
as I was stripped down to my simplest form,
and the waves awarded me the
approval of my name.
I was serene,
I was free,
and the waves were there to welcome me home.
Jul 2012 · 588
Downer
Sespoquet Jul 2012
A golden apple cut my tongue
as gravity began to fail me.
Slowly slowly slowly
the sense of right-side-up
became upside-down.
My skull,
covered in lead, dense,
assured my feet, light as air
remained heals over head.

Devoured carcass of the metal fruit
slipped from left hand
as I chased a white rabbit
quickly                     quickly                                       quickly
over threshold,
out of blue into red
that seeped into light of violet.

The chromatic difference in atmosphere
snapped me from suspension
and my spine, as I fell
s      i      l      e      n      t      l      y
q   u   i   e   t   l   y
LOUDLY
onto tiled floor.
And as I lay stranded and sleep heavy
I felt the cool fur of my prize
before slipping into darkness.
Jul 2012 · 569
No Alternative
Sespoquet Jul 2012
These ivory, ceramic keys have become foreign
to the grooves cutting across my finger prints.
I force the unfamiliar notes
into the dusty air, and smile
because you once whispered
        I love you because no one else can.

I find myself escaping from dreams
and opening doors into different rooms.
Blue and orange striped sheets,
corduroy cushions,
a white, sleepless bed
greet my coffee muddled irises
as I un-glue eyelids from lens.
And as your pale blue eyes pierce through mine
during these influential moments,
I begin laughing as you whisper
        I love you because no one else will.

I have started to count the seconds it takes
for an ant to scurry across my wood floor.
Two hundred and sixty-three days later
I heard a knock on my door.
Sunlight outlines your blackened figure
and we both whisper
        *I love you because I don't know how to love another.
Jul 2012 · 1.1k
Youth, wasting away
Sespoquet Jul 2012
What is there to do
with time you are wasting away?
Sit transfixed to a seat
uncomfortable from wear,
picking scabs of today's work.
Todays that have turned into
years.
Years of wishing for
tomorrows.
Tomorrow's bell ringing your ears.
Wetting your eyes.
Friction between lung and bone.

What are you doing
wasting your time not staring at stars?
Feeling terribly small
and just as large while holding a child's hand.
Writing stories about the dead
while your lovers live in attics.
Trip though snow and
fall into water's embrace.
Tell your mother you love her and
kiss the forehead of your father.
Run through airports to
fly through trees.
You must sing through fog.
Sing while naked in the fog.

What are you doing
passing the truth as fiction?
Winking and crossing fingers
while standing in intersection.
You must catch yourself on fire
to be humble enough to love.
Jump off building to test your faith.
Sleep on the roof and embrace fear's power.

What is there to do with
all the time I am wasting away?
Jul 2012 · 457
take your places
Sespoquet Jul 2012
Springhollow.
Something broken, something borrowed.
Friction fighting flesh
Against my white stained pillow.

Middlesex.
Promising perfection in excess.
Cutting palms with lovely letters.
He was seven.  I was six.

Nottingham.
Proclaiming to know the promised land.
Wrecking ball through golden temples.
Romantic fixations.  Romantically ******.
Jul 2012 · 447
weigh in
Sespoquet Jul 2012
step up.
cheat.
throw up.
repeat.
Jun 2012 · 557
Promise
Sespoquet Jun 2012
Love is
cherishing a flower
and then letting it die
when winter comes.
Jun 2012 · 871
Yellow Jacket Death Trap
Sespoquet Jun 2012
The light is not a threat
it's a dare,
and every second you're behind the yellow line
the more there is at stake.

It's like wearing a seat belt
and closing your eyes
allowing tire to connect to yellow line
that leads to the sky,
if you're lucky.

Taking a cat nap in a coffin,
unconcerned yellow eyes of your past life
opening to the sight of
your own exorcism.

Changing stop lights
manipulate the colors
behind your stained glass pseudo christ,
highlighting the features every yellow-belly loves best.

Girls standing on street corners
******* themselves out for their yellow haired congressmen,
only to satisfy their oral fixation
on the more handsome opponent.

Passing the **** to the next contestant,
sadistically watching
as they choke,
mimicking the yellow glow of the sun.

The manila folder
that stores your secrets.
Yellow nails dig into skin
knowing you will never be forgiven.
Jun 2012 · 452
Nic Fix
Sespoquet Jun 2012
I love watching you
connect the dots
on my skin
with your fingertips
Jun 2012 · 911
Box
Sespoquet Jun 2012
Box
When you went out on me, you forgot your things.
I left them for days, hoping you would return,
To take them away,
But on the 100th hour I found a box and decided to pack for you.

I started with the ashes of a poster you made me. Drug tights that I found in your car that weren’t mine and your phone, vibrating from the sext messages.  In went ash tray, over used bottles and unused condoms.  I found the rope that was always knotted closer to my end.  Cut my finger on the broken mirror of insecurity you placed in front of me when talking to your other girlfriends.  I tossed in the mask you loved wearing.  Buckets of *****.  Your socks.  Empty cans of courage.  Clocks full of hours I wasted when waiting for your replies.  A glass full of gasoline tears.  I had to throw in the skin you clawed off my back.  ***** sheets.  Cigarette ends.  Sifted through piles of poems describing a woman that wasn’t me, and found my love letters you tossed aside.  Towards the bottom I found ticket stubs, and the pick-up lines that never failed you.

But underneath the dirt I found this:

Pebbles from the playground with the tallest slide.  Sand from San Diego.  Mental pictures I took of you while you lay next to me.  Your cologne and your Fleet Foxes shirt.  The Lennon and Yoko vinyl we danced to for the first time.  Memories of you asking to distract me.  Memories of waking up next to you the first night I stayed over.  Interpol.  Pictures of you looking me in the eyes, convincing me that you loved me.  A scribbled drawing of a beast and you holding hands.  The wicker chair from the back porch.  Bukowski’s War All the Time from that hot summer day.  Splinter Cell.  I felt you kissing down my spine, and then back up.  I found images of us laughing.

I'm keeping the good things, but I can no longer bear this box of burdens on my own, and it is not fair to send your way either.  I’ll do us both a favor.  I’ll light a match and let the ******* burn.
Jun 2012 · 492
For Harvey
Sespoquet Jun 2012
We sat on the back porch reading Bukowski to each other as we
hid from the sun.
Even the overgrown wasp from the summer before
feared the heat.
And I watched you blow smoke as you preformed and
as the shadows grew long and uneven.
And everything was good
and everything was perfect.

I left you that evening for far away states in an over driven
machine that floated through the concrete river.
Chased disappearing shadows until they were nonexistent.
And as sickly sweet poison and smoke paid homage
I thought of you and knew that
Everything was good and
everything was perfect.

Neither of us are certain how the world began
or the power of coincidence.
I will never be able to express how autumn
makes me feel, or how much I love you,
But I know that you are everything good.
You are everything perfect.
Sespoquet Jun 2012
Harvey has been flirting with the waitress all night.
Eve leans in,
slowly,
allows her bare shoulder to graze Harvey's blazer
and whispers,

"I've missed this."
Jun 2012 · 460
Fake-out
Sespoquet Jun 2012
gas light.
running on empty.
not enough fumes to drive
the gold paved road to the
pearly gates.
Jun 2012 · 840
premature birth of a savior
Sespoquet Jun 2012
It was only July, and yet I watched the snowfall
as you kissed me goodbye.
You placed presents under my bed
next to the monsters,
and my smile had too many teeth to be sincere.

I guess Christmas came early, but I was unprepared.
I dug holes in my backyard,
found chicken bones instead of gold.
Please, take this gift as a token of my worth.

I left footprints in the snow as I paced the halls,
hung lights across the oven.
I took the phone off the hook so I wouldn't be bothered,
too busy painting pictures of a manger.

I guess Christmas came early, but I was unaware.
I dug through my coat pockets,
found lint instead of gold.
Please, take this gift as a token of my worth.

My hands turned blue as I built an igloo on my bed,
decided to warm them by the TV,
placed empty bottles on the mantle as decorations,
wrote a love story for my mother.

I guess Christmas came early, and I was left to stare
at tail lights, projecting a fairy tale on my fair skin.
I dug a grave in my bathroom,
found pills instead of gold.
Please, take this gift as a token of my worth.
Jun 2012 · 331
Kiss me, I'm bleeding
Sespoquet Jun 2012
Crimson lips stain
cigarette ends-
    meet, never sufficient,
    never worth-
        while you lie
        next to me
        in my bed,
        in your tomb,
        on my lips
        the stain of death
Jun 2012 · 486
The Bitch of a Beast
Sespoquet Jun 2012
I have a beast inside
that becomes my shadow in daylight
and sings me sickly sweet lullabies at night
She feeds on the formaldehyde in my blood
She ***** the air from my smoke filled lungs
She tells me I'm beautiful as claws dig in my skin
She calls me her pet
Jun 2012 · 533
ADLs
Sespoquet Jun 2012
I tried to say goodbye the 20th of May
I shaved my head in June
I cried for you Friday night
I ate my words Monday morning
I weigh myself in cigarettes
I tore my skin at noon
I took my pills at midnight
I cried for you Friday night
I **** myself in my dreams
I have too many doctors
I have numerous track marks
I cried for you Friday night
I received a call from god but didn't answer
I am walking a straight path into hell
I have a blood stained smile to match your fist

I cried for you Friday night.

I smoke my pills at noon
I tear my skin at midnight
I cried for you this morning
I answered a phone call from the devil
I burned my bridges with god
I smoke more than I weigh
I lie to my doctors
I lie to my friends
I lie to myself
I cry for you every night
I died the 20th of May
I ate my hair in June
I no longer believe in Monday
I bit your hand with my sharpened teeth
I cried for you at 3 o'clock
I cried for you while jumping off a bridge
I cried for you in my sleep

I gouged my eyes out at 3 this morning.

— The End —