Welcome to Misadventure, you're drawn to it in some berserk way, maybe due to it's atomic habits or technological urges,

sometimes there are cool, but irrational gun-totting robots who speak in foam, their presence detected by iron filings or teeth fillings or both or neither,

I just know there are tire tracks on your wife's new dress, the smell of gasoline coming from the guest bedroom, and a half-eaten Stouffers lasagna rotating on the record turntable,

and here a replicated version of your wife dances to the Italian Song, her ******* like lodestones, upturned and pressed together,

drawing you to them in some berserk way,
and they give such life and merriment to your brain's parcel of needles, that they prance and sway as if the devil were in them.

At the age of twenty-five
I sat myself down for a long, long talk
About how I wasn’t really all that grown up.
“I can’t say no to you,
And perhaps I really should.
There was supposed to be marriages and babies,
All by this point.” I sighed
“But there’s been laughter and love
And millions of perfect moments,
So you have free reign.
Be whichever age you need to be.”

beautiful whispers in my ears
easing all of my darkest fears
i kiss you then and hold you tight
and waiting for the coming of night

i light the cigarette and watch the smoke
and pocket my nails, jagged and broke
the tempest is nigh, winds are blowing
we zip up our coats, knowing:

it will be rough, it will be a test
everything dear will be lost lest
we stand tall and shout aloud
we are proud and will not be cowed

for we are stoic in the face of death
and with a full chorus of hitched breath
i pirouette and twirl and laugh and sing
nothing will subdue this couple of kings!

Someone said that having secrets was like holding an invisible box close to your chest. Nobody can get close and they can't see why.

It's in the ******* way.

I overturned my box, papers all tumbling out--you could've picked up any one and asked a question.

You said nothing, upturning like a fish. Belly-up boy.

I picked softly at your lip, finding a tattoo on the inside of your lip.
It says "*****" but it might as well have said "YOU'RE STUPID" to me.

I tried to pull any information I could about it out of you.
I got nothing, like *** from a stone.

I will break you
and rip you to shreds
in the most beautiful
and outstanding way possible

When I leave,
you will question
whether it was bliss
or an misadventure
to your heart.

We tiptoe into the unknown
figuring out where to go
where our legs will take us
we walk slowly into the woods
we hike up to the hills the mountains
we walk briskly right by the ocean the sea
we cross rivers streams
we jump off a cliff a waterfall
we jump over boulders puddles holes and cracks
we run
we run swiftly to
where the roads meet
where the concrete ends
where the dirt begins
we run down the path without a path
we run into the horizon where the sun rises and sets
we run
we hold hands
we walk
we slow down
we stop
we stand there
we find
that place
that moment
it is where we're supposed to be
you
me
us.
Our rugged soles.

I was told to write about how I feel.

But what I feel isn’t just a noun I can express in words and pages. Tremendous waves of emotions come crashing and I forget how to swim. Rarely are they a calm sea, where sooner or later, I find a boat and am safe.

There is no boat today. The sea is churning. The sky is enraged.

Sometimes the emotions are a fire, orange and warm, fueling me to keep moving on. But when they are blue and searing hot, it burns me from within. I’m afraid you will catch fire too.

But the fire is my light in the darkness, my lighthouse. Not attracting boats, but giving them a signal to stay away.

I am torn between right and wrong, and the only way I can talk about my ‘feelings’ is by referring to them as natural occurrences and disasters.

Disasters. That reminds me of a lot of things.

You are so terribly corrupted by the tragedy that lingers in your blood.
So terribly crumbled by the silhouettes in the night, how the shadows that dance reminds you so much of his.
You find yourself shrivelled by the world, haunted by your thoughts.
Yet my love, through your sorrows and woes,
I beg of you, do not forget.

Remember how he looked at you that day,
How you knew that you would hide that look on the tips of your eyelids for years.

Remember when he held your hand, when you saw the beauty in the world and with knees trembling, you knew.

Remember the thunderbolts that rioted in your soul when he traced your skin for the first time, when you were so electric and so terrified you could barely stand it.

Remember his mumbled midnight dreams and how he was so grateful that you were the last thing he saw, remember that those twists and turns that were, at one point, the most important thing in the universe.

Remember him, finding you, when you had encaged yourself in a silent room, full of so many things, that were beginning to drown you.
Remember how he was there.

Remember in your drunken haze, when you held his hand and led him through the streets. Remember when he held you, when he made you feel alright.

Remember when he followed you to the door, and how you felt when he held your wrists to stop you from leaving. Remember that.

Remember when you thought that it was simply so astounding, to have found him at all.

Remember that things are sometimes good and sometimes bad and most importantly, that anything worth having known in this world requires without doubt, an equal and brilliant mix of both.  

Remember that you were happy once and please don't be ashamed of that.

And above all, remember who you used to be.
-



*"Beg yourself, my love, beg yourself,
To not forget who was knocking on your door.
In the rain, on Saint Patricks day."