We noticed the ******
soon approaching the places
we took years to accept
as our home, to see how tough
our meat stuck to our bones
against their barrage of teeth,
rotten tongues, and pus-dripping nails.

and when you packed the last
of the matches and saw me hiding
all our stillborn dreams inside of
the basement's drop-ceiling tiles,
you told me, "Along the way,
we're going to be picking up
more, I haven't decided
when, but I am sure we'll find
some good ones when we're
digging through the pockets
of those dead ******, or in
one of the jammed cars
sitting on the interstate,
or in an empty Jack Link's bag,
**** if I know.

so I hope you're putting those away
to make room for more,
not because you think there
aren't any to have after this.
You don't have to pack so lightly,
I'm here to help carry the weight;
just remember that you're in charge
of grabbing a carton of Marlboros,
if the gas station didn't get
entirely ******* ransacked,
and remember to smile
every once in a few hours
so I know I'm helping you do all right."

I could never hate a human
as much as I revere them a hero,
because I love my heroes
for remembering their flesh;
I know that you are not your demons,
because if you were,
you wouldn't be trying
to shovel them out of your head
to install a window in the cavity
so the sun can come into your skull
to greet all the angels that you know
are still somewhere
in your mind.

though my demons
no longer live in me,
they still live with me,
and I'm sure of that
because they always remind me
that they come along for
the drive to work; they are there
to feed themselves in front of me
when they make me too sick
to eat when I'm hungry,
and they still jump from my bed
and around the walls,
making so much noise
when they know that,
all I want to do,
is ******* sleep.

if the body is a temple,
I am just a barren chapel,
a tired frame caving in
under the weight of time
time and again,
and for most days
and most eyes,
just coming short
of grandeur and lovely.

I wish that our tongues would finally match
when we spoke from our flesh,
that you would brush my shoulder
like you do when
you aren't a machine,
and when we'd look at each other,
that our eyes
would actually meet.
but you can't get under
keeping it simple,
and I still end up over-
explaining.

if I could trade the face
I came with,
I'd pick one that you
would adore today,
love tomorrow,
and keep
in the back of your head
over the weekend in
passing thoughts
on your way to work
every time you
drove by
something beautiful.

we could move back to The Cul-de-Sac
when we're ready to visit
the simpler times,
and you could be Kevin,
revving up your motorcycle
in our driveway every Friday night,

and we'd enjoy the boiling stars
on our walk down The Lane,
and you'd tell me that it took
a few years to appreciate it,
but you love how the aroma
of my Krankshaft No. 5
has grown on you,
"'... fresh cut spring flowers
strewn across a babbling brook
with a hint of lemon.' isn't that
what that one dork said
it smelled like, back in 1999?

Funny how time flies, man,
how about when we get home,
we watch some cartoons,
and you can scratch my head,
and we can watch our tongues
change color from the jawbreakers
that I've been saving for us tonight?"

Yeah, wouldn't that be nice?