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Charlie Jul 2018
And so the song flows -
a messy trace of barbiturate haze,
the song flows,
tinged with a red-eyed, cathartic
sort of sparkle about it in the dark,
like the backalley streetlamps by my window
at one in the morning.

July 1st-
I take a step outside, climb to the roof.
My eyes swell from the sunlight,
glasses steam up from the heat.
I have no need for lifting my *** off these sheets anymore but to write.
Manhattan rooftop, why did you have to betray me?
There was a time when
you were the glistening silvertoned backdrop to all of my surreptitious loves
as I sat on you,
idly humming jazz,
peacefully watch the go-and-come
of the synagogue pouring into the
streets below,
pitifully bemused
at the concept of dejection.
You once gave me a view of opportunity,
and ever-alert, always-foreseeing eyes that could have seen all the way to the buildings of Stamford.
Now I'm eighteen and terribly myopic.

What at all at this point is to exist
with implacable certainty?

Manhattan rooftop,
Tell me that
solipsism is the universal truth,
then I will not feel as alone.
KM Hanslik Mar 2018
I can't rain on your parade
I'm tired of dragging myself down;
And we wrote it in sandstone,
So that eventually it'd wear away-

Is it enough that there's evidence
I used to breathe in that same city?

Cause it's raining where I am again,
And I don't wanna add to that misery.

Do you wake and think of me
In the fumes of that city?
In the rushing gutters,
In the choking crowds?

Cause it's raining where I am, and I...
I often think what it does to you.
Haley Greene Jun 2017
6/5/2017

sinking into the white blur of my sheets
wondering if this courage is fleeting already
i was so brave sunday morning
to finally let go
secretly hoping if you can't reach me easily
perhaps you'll find a way
if it means enough to you
you'll float by
and toss a rock at my window on the sixth floor
of my nyc apartment
i don't need that

for the first time i laughed in manhattan today
the first time in awhile to breathe
the skies looked cold and harsh
but it is undoubtedly summer
"the best summer of life," you'd say
with you i felt doubt
in my pursed lips
holding my tongue with all the words
i'll only write down
it still has a chance to be

vanessa and i held onto the hours
to process and reminisce
when we were once students in a room full of books
you
working on your latest project
i remember the tie around your neck
the suit jacket you put around my shoulders
still thinking the same thought then as i do now:
one day it won't hurt and i'll hold my head high
as i unravel
become undone
become who i was meant to be
not thinking of you and a bottle of bacardi
with polaroids and pictures
burned to the ground
this fortress we built on unstable foundations

remembering
your body pulsing against mine
rest my head on your chest and laugh
your sheets
walk me out the door with no clothes on
before i say goodbye for good

this is day two of a life without you
a second go
if you want to make time
you'll see to it
today i will not let my emotions take precedence
over the rational decision to leave
stronger, baby
Meat Stevens Feb 2017
8th avenue ***
**** out on ground crankin one
Thanks de Blasio
racing across the train platform,
one hand on our heads keeping our beanies in place,
the other clenching each other's

we slid in through the doors,
catching our breath in between laughter
we make it above ground just as the sun is setting over astoria
and i swear your eyes turn golden

my favourite you comes out at night
we lose track of time, put away our cell phones,
and vandalize this whole **** place with our love

carve your name into my rickety old heart like you did the trees
near bethesda
kiss me long and hard, like the winters
just as refreshing when i open the door and seeing you,
my own wonderland

melt this ice pick inside of me
set me on fire, for all i care
everything is dying right now,
but for once, for once, it doesn't feel like it
i think about you all the time.

even when i'm asleep, i dream about your
fingerprints
and the way you snore,

and i have sad dreams where you tell me
that the sun rises & sets for us,
that western cities call to us,
and that june draws near.

but i wake up and cry without knowing why.

i think about you when i'm at work,
and when i'm on the train,
and when i'm watching racing droplets on the taxi cab window,
pretending we're the droplet that's going to make it to the edge.

and i think about you when i'm ordering coffee.
you like drinking it black because you think it makes you seem cool, and i tell you that's the dumbest thing i've ever heard - "you're basically drinking hot bean water then!" -
as i pour cream and sugar into mine, i glance up to see you smirking at me, lovingly.
nobody does that to me anymore, especially not when disagreeing.

i think about you when i'm washing my hair,
and when i stand in front of the closet,
and try to find a shirt i haven't yet worn with you.
it's a pointless exercise; they all have your scent on them.

i think about you when i'm making dinner,
and sometimes, it just hits me out of nowhere.
that i'm here, and you're there,
and my hands shake so much i have to put the dishes down.

it would probably be easier to not think of you at all,
to not be so familiar with how your fingers feel on my hips,
to forget the way you brush my hair every night before bed.

but i find myself deciding that i would rather know those things
and be in pain from the knowledge of your existence apart from me,
than to not know you at all.
5:32am
walk three avenues if you don't catch the M116 bus
6 train
1 stop
transfer
4 train
3 stops
10 minute walk
deli stop
1 small tea + 1 everything bagel w butter
1 block
"good morning" to the security guards
she won't make eye contact but she'll smile so let that be something
4 flights of stairs
12 of us
in an office for over 6o hours a week
holding each other accountable
holding each other close
there are two types of cancer.
there's the kind that's caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells; we call them malignant tumours.
and there's the kind that's boys born on july 9th - 5'11'', with expressionless brown eyes, and in desperate need of a haircut;
we call them malignant *******.

i can't shave my head in preparation for everything he will ruin, and requesting time off to cope with the fact that i loved this person is not a valid option.

MRI scans won't show you what happened to my brain after he told me i made it hard to hate the world or what happened after he told me i was the worst person he met in it. they won't tell you what it looks like to be told you're loved, hated, and then not cared about at all.

side effects include:
mood swings, triggered by those who are as infuriating as they are infatuating
loss of sleep because he wants to rant to you about socioeconomic structures until 3 in the ******* morning
dissociation of time because it doesn't exist when you can make someone laugh and tell you about his favourite jewish children's book and why he doesn't like big dogs and that even though his family is full of jerks and idiots, he'd still do what was needed to support them.

more severe side effects include:
writing about him months after he's made it harder to breathe, but willing yourself to talk about it to a room full of strangers
being crippled by the fear he might stumble lost in manhattan again and find the cafe you are complaining about him onstage in

i want this to be a survival story and tell you that i do not have business cards for being a tragic event organizer who throws the best pity parties in town. i want to tell you that i had enough self respect not to call him when i got re-diagnosed, despite the fact that he once told me diseases like cancer exist to **** out little pests like me and because he was the only person who told me i was going to be fine, live longer than him maybe, and to stop talking like it was the end.

but that was really hard because there's two types of cancer, and he's the one that did a significantly much better job at making me feel like i was dying.
opening yourself up to the potential for pain also opens you up to incredible kindness and joy. the heart is a paradox. and you know, new york invented love at first sight, so if you wanna simultaneously expand your threshold for heartache and capacity to love big, do it here. everyone is as scared and willing as you are.
take bad news out on a date. give it your time and attention on a subway ride after work. buy it $2 margaritas at a gay bar on a tuesday. ignore questions about it. plan tattoos about it. sing terribly and loudly about it. do anything but talk about it. do anything but talk about it.
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