you asked me why I smoke
as frequent as I do
but what do you do
to satisfy
a longing
that could never
be expressed?
there are many things
I wish I could tell you
but
I inhale
my
every
intention
to speak

why do most want a
love that is detrimental?
a love that shatters
your teeth
as you try to speak
a love that inflicts
a stream of butterflies
or makes you appear
as if you've had
too much caffeine
by the way your
delicate
being
shakes

I have shaken
and clamped
my tongue this time
to stop the promises
from leaking out
I decline to drink coffee
so you don't believe
I'm quivering with words
unspoken

I decline to mention
that I dream of your face
in the future looking worn
from every obstacle
we have hurdled through
in our years
I decline to mention
every morning that
you're softly breathing sleep
I hold your face
and softly mumble
"mine"
I decline to mention
my excess of
"I love you's"
is caused by an
unshakable longing
to promise a forever.
but why?
why does it seem so
unattainable
why do I reject the thought of
a promise to you
for
something
so
precious?

I am tired of shaking
I am tired of a placebo
I'm tired of over used
empty apologies
I'm tired of reminiscing
remembering
" I will always love you"
"forever"
I am tired of my lovers thoughts
being elsewhere
I am tired
I am worn
my butterflies have turned
into the
ash
I flick
off
my
cigarettes

I used to write novels
for the people in my life  
I've loved until I saw how
empty
others were
while doing the same
I used to whisper "I love you"
and sweet meanings.
I have experienced
the truly empty
of this world
I have loved
the damaged
the angry
the sad
and
the broken

they spoke a hollow shell
of the same words
i purred with meaning
Suddenly
I lost
my appetite
for

forever

while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty

*you know
i never echoed until you died

ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
   *stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
   stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
   stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends