It seems so long ago
When I think about it now
Like watching an old VHS in my mind
A tape constantly rewinding to the parts
I don’t care to remember

But tonight all I can see is your thumb tracing my lips
Your hungry gaze upon me
Seeking an answer almost
An answer I can no longer give you

Tonight all I can see is
My hand holding onto your hand
Feeling your warmth on that cold night
Similar to tonight

It seems that I am the only one
Who has locked apart of you forever
In the hidden depths of my mind
It’s a habit of mine, I am sorry

But over time, these memories
Hurt less and less
Feel less and less like they
Were mine to keep
It’s become an unfamiliar picture
A distant hazy feeling
I’ve learned to let go

But tonight
All I can see is this VHS
A part of you I have kept
On the darkest of nights
To keep me company
For to feel this momentary pain
Is better
Than to feel nothing at all

You don’t seem to remember a lot
That’s okay, I’ll hold onto the memories for now
Like an old picture hanging on the corkboard in my room
You’re there when I wake
Illuminated by the morning sun’s gaze
You don’t mind hanging there on my wall
An unexpected visitor lingering in my mind
Catching my eye when I least expect it
But I’ll wait, as I always do
As morning turns into night, and night into day
As the sun shines through these windows
Ultraviolet waves upon my memories
I’ll wait for your colors to fade

On better days,
I would remember dragging my finger tips
against the walls
feeling the smooth glossy painted surface of
your skin against my nails.
But it seems like these days,
you are grabbing my hands deep into your walls
pulling me forward until I become them
their solid white flat hardness,
and they become me,
my blue water carbon body,
and that is that,
and melancholy transforms into routine
and routine transforms into pretend
and pretend transforms into joy.
It seems like all the games we play
are like this harsh compromise
and accepting it the way it is,
where walls become water and water becomes walls
where I can find myself slipping away,
solidifying into a block of
cement, covered in white glossy paint.
This is not love.

In our hormonal civil war
I found myself a samurai
warrior
so I sharpened my sword
-- there's nothing kinder
than the blade of possession.
lady killer,
flipping off the switch.
and in the darkness
I am you.
all
of my organs and whatever else,
becomes you,
to bleed your blood
to sing your verse
to clip your ears
for the music you haven't heard before.

but with our glands exploding
heads colliding
we fall backwards
onto our own swords
defeated inept.

Some wander through their rose colored glasses
bitterly nonchalant for their lives
passionate about everything in their
non-compliant ways and
unforgiving aesthetics
pleased to accept their parts

I get tired after a few dances back home
feet sore, the blistering skin
a familiar commodity
raggedly hanging irritated
drifting drifting away
onto the lonely tufts
of ancient carpet rags

my nose hits the floor
bludgeoning the tip of that sensitive aquiline shape
nerve jamming straight to the heart
and so does the dream begin
Soaking in the summer nights,
baked in that warm smile
isn't it so odd?
being terrified of an echo blocking me on the head
soon erased and tuned to an alien frequency

then
trapped in a cave
crying into the abyss
the man behind me
his shadow encapsulating mine
comforting monster
I can feel rip through me

and as I run from that i fear
falling down the rocky terrain
hat ripped from my hair
blond glossy tips frosting
the cross mountaintops,
I left my hat in his hands
the one with embroidered sunflowers--
with a scream left eroding in my mouth
from inside to out,
an ancient friend I'd forgotten

So many boys.
What to do.
my head hurts, my wrist aches, and at the end of the dance, i'm walking backwards

Most of the time I just feel like wallowing away and dying into this murky fog and it's okay because even with a moment of clarity, still still still adrift is my head flushed with the peach blossoms from the trees, still tender washed upon the shore