"rearview" poems
Driving up mountain miles
of washboard switchbacks;
jarring the dusty rearview mirror
in my mind:
"but don't look back in anger"
... I heard you say
stuck in the cloud of dust
befogging my daydream
back somewhere thereabouts
the washed out bridge
that tore us apart
like a flash flood
It was so long ago
since you were running
and I was hiding in plain sight,
from what the storm
in my eyes did tell
Mindful — you were only watching
the growing distance gather;
finding what you didn't lose
looking back to see
what you can't forget —
like a hesitant child
reluctantly wondering
if anyone was still looking back
at you ― still running away
from each passing storm
Jesse Stillwater
June 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
i
you say i am honestly not the same person
i say one day i woke up honest
and i do not know how to undo experience
my own eyes and ears and nose and mouth
cannot be undone at the moment
how do you do it?
push that pressure to the back of your mind
like that
how do you all manage to laugh with a straight face
at things that you know aren't really funny
i can't fathom it. where you go
when you are stomping and ripping
and ****** and jeering
and laughing and running
it's exhausting to watch you
ii
i apologize if it doesn't make sense
that i can't play along
but playing along
doesn't make sense
i could never win a grammy
with this tight lipped smile
laughing at the expense of others
makes me feel more like a paparazzi
placating insecurities for currency
leeching off the vulnerability
you may not think i'm smart but
i am smart enough to know this is not 'normal'
and there is nothing wrong with staring at you in the rearview
and saying "i wish that was really sarcasm"
i'll tell you the truth
and you don't have to like it
and you don't have to like me
and i don't have to like you
because if there's one thing i know about myself
it's that i don't dislike anybody
until they show off their callousness
hoping it's the right party trick
to gain respect
iii
we watch comedy tv, and you are worried
by the way my spine cracks
when i let out a uncontrollable laugh
dragging on, beginning to spill, and as i try to quell it
my whole body shakes with the pressure
of it bubbling inside of me
you feel all of this beside of me
a small volcano with a bent back
quaking absorbed by pillows and flowers and cushions
not quite right for you
wondering why i couldn't laugh like this earlier
when we were not alone
everyone is looking for something more porous
more willing to let in effortlessly
and absorb tirelessly
that can simply laugh like a stream bubbles
and let go of the undercurrent
yet we are sharp and uneven and course like logs
and the weight of our actions carries much further
being shunted downstream by tides of gravity
every intention runs it's course
every intention speaks volumes
if you feel that in your core
every day you will uncontrollably think of how
every intention defines the quality of the laughter
stuck in someone else's head
and you will save it for things that are funny
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
Bravery
I thought I was brave
with the scars to prove it.
My legacy -
broken bones, split knuckles,
black eyes and loose teeth.
Adulation and respect.
I fought both man and isms
Never backed down.
But a black man, driving
an Uber taught me the truth of
true bravery.
Harassed, insulted, threatened by
a low-life passenger,
white racism covered in a cheap suit and tie,
he refused to take the bait.
He denied himself the pleasure of
justified violence.
He told me his story -
and anger for him, righteous indignation,
crashed over me in furious waves.
I admonished him for not
confronting that mans ignorance
with a closed and determined fist.
Never back down, right?
Gently, he spoke the truth of
black men in America.
His eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror.
You, he said, are innocent until proven guilty.
Protected by a system that
oppresses me.
I am guilty - period - and would be lucky
to be arrested, not killed,
in a confrontation with that bigot.
So he did nothing, let the swine in a tie
off at his destination,
and drove on - leaving that pig to
wallow in his hate.
His bravery earned him nothing.
No adulation. No respect. No recognition.
Nothing except another day of life.
Another day with his family.
In contrast - my lifetime of bravery.
A pale reflection, when set beside his truth.
He was brave, not I.
My self-styled bravery, forever
tainted
by my privilege.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
I prided myself on never hating anyone
I let their negativity roll off my back
Bit my tongue until it was split in two
Took their criticism and took the high road
I see that was no use
Your negativity is a poison
Seeping into whatever crevice crack it can find to invade
A parasite latching to its host
Wanting to bring down my drive my spirit
My mind you want to raid
You glance at me smirk with contempt
because you see in me what you lack in yourself
Personality maybe?
A smile that shines so bright the very sight of it sickens you
But in true fashion
I never brag or boast or thrive on the vision of another's misfortune
Even though you would love to watch me suffer
I use your negativity
As my creativity
My fuel to leave you in my rearview
And as i drive away I will throw up the deuces
Make my own way
No excuses
You wont bring me down!
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
Here at Kinkos
We have a saying, “copies of copies”
You are trained to always ask for a source file
The digital file of the picture the camera took
The negatives of digital cameras
You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be
Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready
If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good
And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse
And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image
Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner
Or a crease in the print out
Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements
Or simply from time
Copies never look as good as the original
Even if you try and protect them
And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces
The next copy still won’t be the same quality
A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass
Copies of copies are never the same
Sometimes the printer is calibrated different
Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day
Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day
Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over
And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow
You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year
And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be
It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window
Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was
I mean where the creases were
I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it
Memories of memories
So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before
So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget
Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family
Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones
I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek
I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it
And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember
What I forgot to remember last time
What did I forget this time
What won’t I remember next time
Memories of memories
Like copies of copies
Fading over time
If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life
Should I never remember them
Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones
To remember them often
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Following the long winding road with the
Dark clouds and lightning grabbing at our heels,
Gravel kicking up dust in the rearview,
We flew like sparrows in the spring wind.
Johnny Cash singing throughout the speakers;
Tunes of walking lines and rings of fire.
The clearing was just ahead, sandwiched in
Between tall evergreen trees with acorns
Where small sparrows wait for a worm dinner.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
people drank and swayed as you stood up there
and oscillated your hands over the surface of the synthesizer
Ambience
all I heard was the thereminEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
I heard that as I boarded the subwayEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
and I thought about an orchidEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
You resembled an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
I went and saw you again playing the back alley
and you did it a cappella while people shrieked from their acid trips
Sad
and all I heard was your voiceEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
and I heard them as I fell onto the pavementAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
and I thought I saw an orchidEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAA
You still resembled an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
I bought the paper because it was routine
I read you had vanished, but your face was on the page
Smile
and all I heard was my voiceAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
and then I pictured the fireworksOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAOOOO
they looked like orchidsAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
You didn't resemble an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
I pulled over on the highway, I saw a ghost
He got in the car and it was so cold, I thought about my disbelief
Disappointment.
I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw a ghost
Its hand were big and nimble, its head a large inflorescence
Pretty
and I heard the thereminEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
the fireworks in my headOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOO
and our voices.
You resembled an orchid.
An orchid, save my soul.
An orchid, save my soul.
An orchid, save my soul.
And so was I.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Consume speed,
rid auxiliary weight—
no love handles,
no fat from rearview—
just frame,
pumping heart,
place where man can sit.
Muffin-top women watch me
quiver under skin,
unshakable desire
to chew fat from their bodies—
never know if I’d
swallow or spit.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
She put on her make-up, her dress and her watch
She pulled up her socks and put up her hair
And in her hair, she placed the umbrella
The small green umbrella
had at first been a joke.
There in her cocktail
on their very first date.
He had taken it from the ice,
setting it above her left ear.
She walked out the door, down the driveway, to the car
She pulled out from the drive, and into the street
And in the rearview mirror, she caught the umbrella
She had worn it on each
of their dates after that.
Through all the long years.
Through all the happiness,
and sometimes the fights.
It always kept them connected.
She entered the building made of soft colored stone
She met with the nun, who helped her with the practice procession
Through her walks down the aisle, the sister noticed, but didnt ask, about the umbrella
She had worn it the night
that he had proposed,
just as she would
on the day they would wed;
and the next ten years after that.
She saw more cars pull up, more friends and family arrive
She met with them all, and spoke with them softly
They were all accustomed, of course, to the fifteen year old, faded, umbrella
Ten years after the wedding
she still had the keepsake.
She had even been wearing it
on the most tragic of days.
The day of the accident,
the one she survived.
So she walked down the aisle, and arrived center stage
She smiled at the calm face of the man that she loved
She then reached up to her hair, and inside his casket she placed
The Small Green Umbrella
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
Dean and I loitered on iron horseback
Flaked with nuances and peppered with a keen stutter
Our jokes had weight
Weight creates a gravitational pull
Our jokes had a gravitational pull
My clone emerged in the rearview mirror with his girlfriend
Dean and I thought that was funny
They were attracted to us, for once
We got a bite to eat, my head, like a gyroscope
Universal karma
Revolving, self-stabilization
Into the palm of reconciliation
Forced by nature
With interdependence
A means to measure
And counter each sentence
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
I get it, my problems aren't that bad.
Worse things happen to better people everyday.
I live in a costal, wealthy, yatch club town,
Officially an only child,
With my judgmental sister spending her freshman year in Manhattan.
I live with my favorite parent,
who doesn't care what fun I have
as long as I'm honest and safe,
and of course I get my schoolwork done,
and the other who drives me insane
is fortunately not in the same area code as me.
But it hurts
To be the listener for the people who created me
As they speak horrible things about each other,
Express their loathing for one another.
To be so broken
And not to know what do to about it..
Self abuse is in my rearview,
but I just hate talking about myself so much.
I've gotten really good at bottling up
And moving on
Just letting my bad thoughts and feelings
Dissolve into worthlessness.
But sometimes it ***** to be alone.
I just wish you were here to tell me I'm not
and that you love me.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:50 PM UTC
Twentysomething Emo
looks at teenage Emo
and laughs.
It was something purely aesthetic,
with brain chemicals churning
and wiry bodies yearning
under the guise of straightened bangs
and perched beanies,
skin tight black outfits
parading the dusty grounds of Warped Tour.
Twentysomething Emo is the real deal--
lamenting over high school salad days
because real life is so unsure,
college degrees and full-time jobs,
watching friends and lovers come and go in our lives.
After a long day of responsibility and groveling,
we drive home (or somewhere just as distant)
with our emo anthems blaring through the speakers.
We scream the songs back at them,
truly feeling the words for the first time.
I'm the same age as William Beckett, Adam Lazzara, and Pete Wentz
when they wrote these songs--
and though the bangs have receded
and the jeans have slackened,
I am perpetually Emo.
The unrequited love and the nearing distant future--
it's come too soon.
I hope thirtysomething Emo looks back
on my meandering twentysomething Emo
and laughs--
as he plays the melancholy tunes pouring out of the speakers
with some more of life fading away in his rearview mirror.
This town gets smaller every day.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
“that’s a Simpson’s sky,” you say,
pointing to the fluff strewn across the highway sky,
I smile and nod, concentrating on the music
we’re driving to Cornwall in the curb lane,
pointedly avoiding what’s uppermost,
halfway there from Toronto
“driving makes me think,” I think to myself
and turn up the volume on Buddha Bar III
and talking fades into the rearview mirror
black Firebird, racing stripes, eager to pass me
I hold steady – he should know how to use the passing lane!
he bobs and weaves and nips at my fender
it washes in waves over you so palpably
I feel it crash on my shoulder -
your father passed away yesterday
rolling the window down slightly, you light a cigarette
I roll down mine and light up, too
our ritual – one feeding off the other
we’re driving to Cornwall, to family,
to mother, alone now among children
“what will you say to her?” I ask you silently
we’re driving to Cornwall
towards loss, towards hope
with a black Firebird close behind
I move the wheel slightly
to avoid a can of Pepsi rolling in the lane
the rear-view mirror catches the firebird
deliberately swerve to hit it and exlode
its contents in a little puff of vapour -
highway music
bonaventure saptel
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
These kinds of stories are hard to find.
I posted up in a bar between
nowhere and a town named Ida
(probably named after some
sweetheart, that old southern name),
and in the characteristic openness
that I can only find during my travels,
I decided to say,
"hey stranger."
It was early in the evening,
he was a traveler too,
but of the trucking sort,
ashen eyes and
pale breathy skin,
we got talking amid
electric neon glow and
the pale blue light
that shown in through the rain.
His name didn't matter,
I won't tell you his name,
but the truckers know thumbers
(there are 5000 or so
across the country
at any given time),
and so he told me of a thumber.
This thumber was in the thunder,
clothes torn and eyes wide,
and with a mind that was,
at that point especially,
oblivious to the solidity
of the dry towel that was
set on the solid truck seat,
and, what a mess this boy was,
so by appearance, I presume,
it was easy to ask,
"what in the hell happened to you?"
It went like this:
the thumber turned those
wide open eyes
(I imagine he was shivering),
and told of how he was
walking, backpack and all,
and of how he smelled a storm
approaching, how when he
saw the treetops bending,
he expected the rain and
pulled a waterproof cover
over his pack just in time,
it started pouring.
This time the thumber,
he said he knew he had to
keep going,
he said he didn't like rolling
dice, no, he said it was a cheat
because if you knew enough
about throwing die the die
land the same, they land
the same enough.
So,
listen, have you ever
walked through heavy rain?
You get dizzy, but
in some deep part of your mind
in the spray, the insurmountable
lukewarmness stealing
a little with each blow,
you lose yourself,
and that's what I imagine
happened to this thumber.
At one point, the thumber
knew ground no more,
that's all he said. He said
he landed one county
over, that's all he said.
And by the jingling
of the die hanging
from the truck's rearview mirror,
one of the truckers laughed
and said ********
as the story of the thumber
came around,
what in all hell else could
you say?
And the thumber wiggled
his head and gave a queer
sneeze.
Against the neon glow
I peered at the trucker,
you can't tell an honest
man by his eyes but
you can tell it by his breath.
I shook my head and said,
"that's a kind of story that's
hard to find."
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
When I was small
and I knew it all
When life was fast
and nowhere to go
I just see myself looking back
through the rear view mirror
And : When "Then" turned into "Now"
And : I'm not so sure about anything now
And : I want life to slow down
And : Last , taking forever to get here
It was fear looking back
In the rear view mirror
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
The world is a giant trashcan
And I'm a dumpster diver trying to discover anything beautiful and white
And it wouldn't surprise me if I've already found it,
Covered in gum and hair and crumbs in the backseat of a gutted minivan
But I'm so busy judging the books with no cover
That I lost track of my little paper hearts that I used to give with a chocolate taped to the back
And sometimes I stare into this rotted wilderness and ask myself if I've stopped existing
Because the rearview mirrors are so grimy that I can't see my own reflection
And when I can't see if there's lettuce stuck in my teeth, I refrain from smiling just in case
So people stamp me into the category of grumpy, grownup girl
But for all I know,
We are all lost pearls from the necklace of the gods
(but I can't go back looking like this)
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
I see you there
In the rearview mirror of my life
Fading
As I move forward
knowing
we'll never ride
side by side
again
Sep 4, 2021
Sep 4, 2021 at 11:44 AM UTC
Lost; stuck
Free me
shackles wrapped
clenched
suffocating
not even near
but far
drive away
rearview mirror,
you wash away
I waved farewell
spinning
turning
endless
fly and.
go.
get.
you ask me why
or how
answerless I remain.
putting the pieces
together
and apart
Riddles;
I solve,
Let myself know myself
But fearing
questions’ answer
for knowledge
Knowing knowledge
Knows no bounds.
Sometimes there are
tears
but smiling
floating
mysteries
solved
slowly
simply
unraveled
and still shackled
but breaking
free
And one day I will be
in the sky,
wings spread
to sunset:
I’ve found it.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
The water on the ground
Is no longer fake,
As I take a look in the rearview.
Huh, I’m crying.
And it’s in this moment
I take a second
To accept the fact
I miss you.
Oh how I wish
I’d known,
Before driving
These backroads alone
My heart and soul
Are objects of old,
And bigger
Then they appear.
That this pathway to heaven
Gripped by desert horizon
Was just escape for a women
Who cannot function
And is blinded
By fear.
Well, that’s life.
I tried.
Goodbye.
I ride.
Until the end of time,
My dear.
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 9:42 PM UTC
I used to whisper stories to the asphalt,
wanting to be anywhere but the city
I lived in.
Passing overhead green signs became routine to me,
I saw them more than birds swooping across civilian streets.
I would drive until I felt at home--
no wonder I still feel unsettled.
I am a modern nomad.
A human vagabond.
As I drove,
counting time in white lines passing
and days in rearview mirror sunsets
I'd beg to the roads,
"Find a life for me, freeway."
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Your words
from Yoville to nowhereland
now that you have left this is all that I have
and I will treasure these until the end
my tears will never stop
I miss you so my friend
words
two hearts
an affair of the heart
can you hear my cries
if this is goodbye
I wish
Just a country girl
remember when
I've lost you, but I haven't
sweet dreams
I'll be there
Let's ride
Out of control
rearview mirror
never
You matter
keep on keeping on
You
a whisper to your heart
Squeaker
suffering in my silence
can't live with you & can't live without you
parched heart
puppet on your strings
feel me
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 9:46 AM UTC
When you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
Might take lots of lookin’
Good woman’s hard to find
Admit it man,
You and me, we ain’t no prize of any kind.
We’re rough around the edges
Ain’t got no smooth lines
So when you find her love her
And she will treat you fine.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
See women they are wary
Far as menfolk are concerned
Seems somewhere in their lifetime
Most all of them’s been burned.
She’s gonna look right through you
Deep into your soul,
So when you find her love her
And she will make you whole.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
She might have some baggage
Made a wrong turn or two
Better look into the rearview mirror
King of baggage might be you!
Then both you go and pack those bags
In the trunk of that used car
And read the map together
So you both know where you are.
Yeah, when you find her love her
Hold her real tight
Get her coffee in the morning
Keep her warm at night
The last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her and
She will always stay.
Last thing that you ever want
Is to drive that girl away
So when you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Yeah drive away together
Bags packed and stored away
When you find her love her
And she will always stay.
Phil Lindsey 4/24/15
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I have been told since I
learned to read
that holding someone close
says I love you with my
heart inside my body inside my head.
she said "fall in love with someone
who's comfortable with your silence."
and still,
I only find you in the dark
crushing my toe on your frame
the scratched black nail in the morning
shines like the love I gave was too
loud and bright, so blinding
that you sank behind the sun
as I played "She loves me,
She loves me Gordian not"
with the sword rays.
splayed across my tongue.
the razor-blade foreplay
was violent enough to carnage
your room to a crime scene wrapped
yellow tape package CAUTION
you yelled with the nothing CAUTION
do not cross do not cross do not cross
you fake messiah
you save yourself savior complex
of a narcissist, drowned in his own pool
of backlogged traffic jam verbage
living with a rearview mirror in every room
especially our bed.
I find myself
with arms wrapped too tight
around a precious thing,
screaming until the spit sling blade
found every secret place inside your ear
and carved it to echo the only word
I have ever really known
ME
ME
ME
ME
ME
ME
MYSELF AND EVERYTHING INSIDE ME
living with a rearview mirror in every room
especially the ones you're in.
especially when you are too quiet
to be anything but a noisemaker
in my cavern of a head
filled with my own claps
singing my own song
playing by my own rules
until everything I knew of you was
dust and shivers in the mist.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
I’m sorry I shut you out and blamed you for my own undoing,
You see I have this cloud that hangs above my head and I had begun
To call it home.
My thoughts and feelings got lost somewhere in the condensation phase,
And I trapped them there, only allowing occasional acknowledgment of the pain
I was in, doing as much as I could so as not to show if or how I had been affected by it,
For I am my own prisoner of sorts.
I let you in my cell to feed me water and gruel, but when you asked to spend the night
I immediately pushed you out and handcuffed myself to
The illusion of accomplishment, for lo and behold, I was there supposedly
Protecting myself, abandoning you before you could abandon me.
Over time, my pride turned to boredom which turned to anger which turned
To loneliness, and I had to place the blame upon someone’s shoulders.
There were no mirrors in my cell, so I chose to blame you
For I had forgotten that I even existed.
Your kindness cut into the unripe parts of me, the parts that were not ready
To be handled so gently, where breathing is slow,
Where each time you blink is like having a windshield wiper wash away the rain
From a car so clarity can enter your veins and visceral rearview mirrors.
I unraveled while you were away, I cried over my million losses while I counted
Your continual successes, I was envious of you,
Gradually falling silent to the truth of everything that had once surrounded me.
I was afraid you no longer loved me, for I no longer wished to be loved
Nor did I feel deserving of it.
That wish was strong and I fell down a long and narrow well
Where you were not waiting for me when I finally reached the bottom.
I stayed there awhile, beneath my cloud, locked in my cell,
With the murky water and unforgiving gruel.
You called down to me from the top, your voice
Your voice
Your voice
Oh but how could I possibly forget?
That voice.
It never left,
It never lied.
I can’t promise you I won’t fall down here again,
For my heart is stubborn and I still haven’t learned
The art of removing that which has been engraved
On this selfish mind.
But for now,
I wish to stay.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
1) 12 thousand tweets and none of them are substantial. They're becoming less and less about you though. Maybe that's what is substantial about them.
2) Something in the way you wrap sin in worship.
3) I'm an arson waiting to happen, is the funeral pyre really necessary?
4) Writing about you angrily isn't doing it anymore. I want to smash bricks through windshields that used to hold flowers I bought you.
5) Looks like you're not at the bottom of this one either. ****
6) My love has always been leprosy.
7) You're the interlude, not the chorus. But, that's okay I'm a terrible vocalist anyway.
8) She wants to date boys that are self aware and boy did she hit the jackpot.
9) You smile with the grace of grandmothers and I'm a bad boy like your grandpa after the War.
10) Can I cut out your grin and put in on the wall next to my framed poster of Bob Dylan and Charles Bukowski?
11) Trace my outline in chalk when I finally drink myself to sleep. I'm euthanizing the pieces of me that belong to you.
12) If I find you in Heaven won't you be in his arms? If I find you in Hell won't you be my torment?
13) You make me feel as insignificant as God does and I think that says something about prayer.
14) I quit paying my phone bill so I'd quit dialing your number like a suicide hotline.
15) My teeth are rotten like the lies that spill out of my teeth. You find me beautiful and I've never been more self-conscious.
16) Your silence fills my abdomen like daggers and words clot where crimson should flow.
17) Loving you is ************
18) My heart is at a crossroads and you're drowning in dust in the rearview mirror.
19) You prefer the subtle burns. The flames so hot they sever nerve endings when they lick your fingers the way I imagine I would.
20) She sings the body electric and I'm forced to worship her through computer screens and the scratch of needle on vinyl.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC