There is one car.
There is one car barreling down the hillside.
You watch it and you know the hairpin turn is
Coming. You can’t see it, you’re too far behind.
But you’ve been down this road, you know the bends.
You know when to let off the gas and coast on
The driver, does he know how the stars may fall?

There is one car.
The driver is a man you don’t want to know.
The passenger, a girl you think you could love.
How the rosary beads hang from the rearview
You know the seat is made of white leather and
That it is cold. How the girl could melt into it.
How the man will destroy her if you let him.

There is one car.
It’s driving under starlight and to nowhere.
Inside, it smells of passion fruit and skunk ****.
You can’t see it because you’re drunk off *****
And another girl wants to see you naked.
She has blue eyes and likes your arms and tattoos.
They’re both the same girl until they aren’t anymore.

There is one car.
It misses the turn and goes careening on.
And the girl was dead when the good guys found her.
The girl was dead when the pictures were taken
Of the jagged metallic mess and posted
Without care or compassion or just mercy
You’re not special. Everyone loves the girl now.

There is one car.
The driver is a man and now you know him.
He made bail so now he is in front of you.
He wears a red and black beanie to the girl’s
funeral. He does not look towards her mom.
You’re so busy hating him you don’t realize
That, well, you are him until you aren’t anymore.

Forget the car.
The alive girl is always begging for you.
She makes you sad in a way you can’t explain
You’ll destroy her if no one’s there to stop you.
She says that the dead girl wants to sleep with you.
You deny it but you know it’s true of course.
She worships you so you ignore the phone calls

The funeral
You meet the dead girl's father for the first time,
Where has he been? He talks about seeing ghosts.
You see a bad man that could have destroyed her.
You try to fight him but he runs for the door.
You run after him. You catch him and realize
You are gripping your own throat in your own hands.

January
The alive girl does not love you anymore.
You never loved her so now you just feel *****
and mean. The driver stares at the stars and feels
Evil. He should never be the same again.
The dead girl’s father stares at the stars and feels
Empty. Of course, the dead girl’s father is you.

Drivers seat. **** stereo. Karl has the aux Windows down.
You’re used to it
So the scene is yours.

It’s all snap backs and ear gauges
All ripped jeans and graphic T’s
All reggie **** and stolen liquor.

No one here wants to be innocent.
Rebel against anything.
Cover your scars kid.
Maina’s got the needle. Get to it.
I got jumped on Brewery Ave.
Sammie said I did good.

I was not well.
I was not on the straight and narrow.
I was bent.
I was getting high in Whetstone.
I was drinking moonshine.
I was throwing up
I was being thrown against the wall
I was burning holes in Jeremiah’s carpet
I was watching him take the blame.
       And we never talked about it.

He overdosed last Winter.

That’s all gone.
I don’t need to sleep on the floor anymore.
The folds of my flannel jacket never told a story.
It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for that.

That’s all one scene.
Now yours. Just yours.
I’m sorry it’s not pretty,

The constant flailing slender arms.
You were screaming, everyone was.
You won’t come back from this the same.
No one will. No one wants to.

Life will just be this
You accept it. You grow out your hair.
Home, James.
You can’t be happy here anymore.

You know what it’s like to yearn.
To stare beyond the ceiling
Looking for a feeling beneath your skin
You know it. You lived it.
Now you take the good parts
You bend them. Break them. Dig your claws into them.
Cover yourself in them
And you are still so terribly in love

I’m sorry for that.
It’s not a good scene.
I really shouldn’t talk about you like this.

Back to me.

I wake up.
I lift heavy weights.
I think about my beard.
I drink heavily.
I take long walks.

God no. Let’s not talk about that.
Another scene. Another morning .
Cut the hotel room.
Cut the Courthouse,
The tears in your eyes,
The bad tattoos,
The little white cross on Charleston Road,
Streaking by the police station,
That one cigarette specifically.

It doesn’t matter

In the next
                     there you are.
You are what you always are
And you are covered in white light.
Smiling in a some terrifying way
That makes me feel desperate and afraid.
While I think of saying something ugly.

Always the Long Hall
Always the thousand pretty and ugly words
               That all just amount to desperation.

On moment you’re young and beautiful and desired and filled with genuine, unironic, honest to God love.

The next you are standing alone,
               bathed in the pale fluorescent light
      
And you are tired.

Pouring through an hourglass.
                                   I know where this leads.
A new scene where I paint the picture of confidence.
Standing tall.
                        Head high.
                                            Eyes ahead.
A strong voice with carefully chosen words.
It’s important to me that you notice this.
There are things you think you’ll never say.
There are things I could do but only think.
So you smile at me and I smile back.
And that’s enough.

Time’s up.

Open the flood gates!
                 You can’t be happy here anymore.

“You can’t get there from here.” Said a man in a white shirt
“You can’t get there from here.” Said a girl I don’t want to destroy.
Cut that scene. There’s no beauty in it.
Cut to a room that’s empty but doesn’t have to be.
A dream of you and me. Then only you and me.
These, our bodies, honey sweet.
You look at my arms and wish you could live in them.
I look into your eyes and am afraid.
Because I want to melt into linen with you.
Shatter and tarnish porcelain.
Okay fine, I might destroy you.
But I’ll bleed for this too,
And I’ll show you my scars
So you can press your lips against them.
Tell me that all this
                           and the fire too
                                                will be worth it.
Tell me if it comes crashing down we’ll never get over it.

Inside your head you hear crickets.
You wake up and see the stars,
And feel leather
                                   and fear.
That’s all for now
Later is the part we rip each other apart
Figuratively,
                            of course.

The cluttered old shelves, always dusty
Hung through Merlot red wallpaper
With little tears in it, adorned
By faint outlines of broken hearts.
Little pretty things.
All with handwritten price tags,
All asking you to bleed.
Dead roses and heart shaped boxes.
Emerald necklaces, diamond rings.
Slender books filled with sappy poetry.
Snow-globes capturing old memories.
Your favorite sweater she never gave back.
(You never asked)
The photographs you threw away.
(You never forgot)
Glass shards from broken liquor bottles.
Everything in the Emporium of Misplaced Lovers
Yours, for blood from your broken heart.

Every morning, the dark room.
Every morning, the wandering hands.
            
           The white linen, the black curtains.
The Golden light waiting behind them
      Silence in the air
Silence in every breath you breathe
          Every one of them is for me, I know.
            
            The white walls, the black ink.
The green leaves of the spider plant
      Sitting on top of our dresser
That you swore you’d **** within a week
          But will never wither or wilt.

          The soft touch, the strong arms.
The wandering hands, restless
      Until the find you, they always do.
So they may pull me closer to you
          As the golden light fills our bedroom.