You complained when the drinks ran out;
Alcohol's synonymous with fun, you said.
I rolled my eyes, presented the concept
Of conversation- you wouldn't give in
And, in exasperation,
I split the bottle on the bone in my leg, shard to shin,
Muttered snidly as I bled,
"Hope you like red".

(Better to be, than keep feeling dead)

Not something I wanted
Or planned for
Happened today
A boy
Was decent
No physical tension
Or ****** implications
The air was light
The conversation between
Just friends
Flowed like a breeze
I cancelled my next **** appointment
That desire came to an end
Because I realized
I just want another male friend

You called again last night
Dusk was slumped over the window frames
and my eyes had adjusted accordingly

You were a mirage of poorly put together pixels framed by the grey of your bedroom walls
Lit by your digital enthusiasm

“how are you?”

I tell you that I’m fine
You ask about school
my friends
my last training session
Echo chambers of average

“I think I’ll be home next week,”

I tell you that’s great
I don’t say much else

I don’t tell you about the quiet that will come when we hang up
How the silence slaps the stone of the brick house you used to hold on both your shoulders because mine were still too weak to take the weight

“you should turn the lights on,”

You tell me you miss me
To give our dog your hug
The phone line whispers crackles while I wait for you to finish

“be nice to mum and dad, okay?”

crackle

“don’t stay up too late,”

crackle

“love you, I’ll see you soon.”

I mimic your message
Let the distance readjust
Hum the note the speaker makes when your voice has been removed from the orchestra

The lights stay off
The curtains still open
I sit in your familiar absence once again

Waiting for the light
To turn back home

I once met
a man
who was
reading
a book
before we
parted ways
and I said to
him before I left,
“I understand
what’s it like
to be immersed
in a book”, and
he said, “yes,
you more anyone
else” and so, I left
with a content heart,
forever in the memory
of the conversation,
where we were in
the deep ocean
of words, before
the wind came,
and we returned
to the shore, as
humans
once more.

I once told my lover "leave me"
"why?" She asked
- well im a poet
- and so?
- i will hurt you
- how?
- i will
- and how are you so certain that you will?
- a poet can not keep inside of his hands something that is for themselves
- meaning ?
- i will hurt you , use you
- but how?
- i will use your cries as lyrics for my next poem
- and so you'll turn me to art
- but you already are art
- what if i dont leave?
- then you'll face my blood thirsty demons
- but what if i can tame them?
- you can't
- i can
- but i am certain you won't
- and why are you so certian?
- because i can't even tame them
- what if thats why im here... to hold you when you're hurt, or when you're unstable.
- love is not a job
- but love requires work
- are you up for it though?
- ive been up for it since the very begining
- how could you be so sure?
- well love can be quite a sensation, but i know it when i feel it
- but how do you love a mess of a poet i am? feeding on you, on your "love"
- how do i love someone who is just the epiphany of everything i feel inside? Well that is very easy.
- but i won't be good for you
- dont be, I'll be good for you