"taillights" poems
I thought I could do it.
You picked me up in the same car we made so many memories in this summer.
The same car that creaks when you shut the door.
The same car that seats are too low and I have to strain my neck to see over the dashboard.
The same car I decided I was in love with you in.
It was bittersweet.
I thought i'd be okay.
I thought it'd be easy.
We were supposed to sit in awkward silence
and turn up the radio until we got to her house and I could break from the tension.
But instead you were charming and you made cackle.
And you got behind the wheel and drove like you owned the road.
The wind howled through the open windows and I was in the most blissful state of mind.
I never told you how much I loved to just watch you drive.
I could sit for hours in that very passenger seat and just watch the road disappear under the tires.
You got out of the car and walked into the gas station and the first thing I thought to myself was
**** **** **** **** **** ****
That familiar feeling in my heart began to sweep over my soul and course through my veins.
I breathed in the scent of gasoline and cinnamon.
I glided my fingers across the soft leather of the steering wheel and sat back and thought of how
I fit so perfectly in that seat.
Like it was made for me.
Like you were made for me.
You glided effortlessly into the car and cranked the engine.
It roared to life
and chills danced up my spine.
I couldn't face you.
I couldn't look in your eyes.
Because I knew if I did I would be hooked again.
I knew your deep brown eyes would seep into me and cause me to shiver.
So I stared out the window and watched the world pass me by.
Mindless small talk kept me busy from thinking about how incredibly not over you I was.
I'm incredibly not over you.
I miss you.
And that car.
And the sweat spots on our backs from the sun and the leather.
It was bitter sweet.
And as soon as you dropped me off my breathing returned to normal
and the feeling in my finger tips came back.
As I watched your taillights fade into the distance I ****** in the cold night air,
and turned to the sky, hoping to fill the void in my stomach with the stars.
As much as I hate to admit,
I'm yours.
I'm still yours.
I'm still incredibly yours.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
on the county road
123, horizontal to my
window pane, it runs
along the dry grass
and some teenage
boy rolls down it
his bass a hushed
thump in the night
he's the bump in the
night, and his taillights
leave red streaks in the
black.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
So I'm a "fly" white guy,
with "Jet" black tendencies,
Try to be a nice guy,
But somehow end up the enemy.
I'll treat you like a princess,
But I'm a fort,
You can't get into me.
It makes no sense to me.
How did this knight in shining armor,
Get slain by the dragon?
So once upon a time,
I was a hero,
Now I'm a has-been.
Last in the castle for I belong with the Pagans,
Slaying distressed damsels,
Giving hell to the angels
With strangers wrapped in mangers,
Destined for greatness.
Trapped within this labyrinth of my cranium.
But when it comes to blame,
My pigmentation begins to change,
But this time it's not my shame.
'Cause you play the same game
That the dames did before you.
You're no different.
You're not worth a fortune.
Fortunately, you revealed your horns for me.
It's torturing how for me it ended horribly,
and you moved on to the same dude you ******* before me.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
You say it's false,
that nice guys finish last?
Well clarify why I'm starin',
At taillights from my past.
They say when you have everything,
You give nothing back.
So I guess that explains
Why your feelings for me lack.
You're like "You're a white guy,
That tends to be black.
Well how in the hell
Can I get used to that?"
That's ********
You're afraid of commitment.
That's why you had to end it,
Before it could begin with.
You're a cynical, sinister,
Hypocritical minister,
Angelic sinner sent to incriminate innocence.
Evil's equivalent,
Yet as sweet as carcinogens.
If heartbreak were a game,
Girl, you would be winnin' it.
If my soul were a food,
You would've finished it.
I had a confident conscience,
but girl you diminished it.
Listen kid,
I get you're immature and ****
But don't go and slander my name
When you used to worship it.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
you see,
well rather ironically
you dont...
or at least i dont
(...my mistake)
(that was my perception/projection of "you" based on "me" because we (again sorry or/ sorry again) can only see the world egocentrically)
i lost my glasses last week
havent seemed keen
on finding them on the streets of
O, (Oh) (OH) how i keened after them (IO)
driving on a mirror this morning, mourning, before the sun, a rose, arose.
i finally noticed them gone.
the acid lined upper middle class road from my
(socially speaking)
lower class acid ridden
(economically speaking)
upper middle class mind
had dis(re)appeared^(infinity)
all time was lost
and for the first time in my driving career
i found myself, spending more time looking at the street than at the road
shooting stars of red streamed after taillights
as if always trying to catch up
greens joined in from lights above
...but did not muddle the stars
like the perfectly controlled watercolor artisan
what Virtuoso, what Perfectionist, what Letter-dash-letter of a being
could create such an immaculate emasculating picture (lack of question mark)
i am humbled.
p.s
i gave up looking for my glasses
my vision seemed perfectly clear
so was yours (Sorry)
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
Men with picked voices chant the names
of cities in a huge gallery: promises
that pull through descending stairways
to a deep rumbling.
The rubbing feet
of those coming to be carried quicken a
grey pavement into soft light that rocks
to and fro, under the domed ceiling,
across and across from pale
earthcolored walls of bare limestone.
Covertly the hands of a great clock
go round and round! Were they to
move quickly and at once the whole
secret would be out and the shuffling
of all ants be done forever.
A leaning pyramid of sunlight, narrowing
out at a high window, moves by the clock:
disaccordant hands straining out from
a center: inevitable postures infinitely
repeated—
two—twofour—twoeight!
Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms.
This way ma’am!
—important not to take
the wrong train!
Lights from the concrete
ceiling hang crooked but—
Poised horizontal
on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders
packed with a warm glow—inviting entry—
pull against the hour. But brakes can
hold a fixed posture till—
The whistle!
Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two!
Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating
in a small kitchen. Taillights—
In time: twofour!
In time: twoeight!
—rivers are tunneled: trestles
cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating
the same gesture remain relatively
stationary: rails forever parallel
return on themselves infinitely.
The dance is sure.
1.9k
Watching...
The night
enter a fresh new realm.
The same day is cast in different hue...
Vibrance in colours dissipate...
Siphoned,
consumed by the dark.
Watching...
And feeling my presence
blend into nothingness.
This night reeks of
blatant nonchalance.
Careless shadows stretch and dance
as I wrestle with my vision
to determine mindless silhouettes.
Watching...
The trailing taillights
of nocturnal traffic.
In my city that never sleeps.
They simply disappear into the dark
with each tick of the hand.
Watching...
The half moon,
eaten away by the void.
Minutes elapse into eternity.
And seconds beat hard
upon my bastion of hope.
Watching...
The ground
that lay quiet before me.
This earth that bears my weight...
This earth that has my shadow
shackled to my feet...
Offers nothing but quiet solace...
Fighting to calm the storm
in my head.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
liquid crystal display
glimmering salacious self-imagery at you,
your lips parted and breath
staccatoing along, flitting just
behind the beat, like your aunt's
first dance at the wedding reception (before
she's had enough to drink) or
her last (when she's had
too much)
she was in the passenger seat
on our drive homeward, leaning in
to the driver's seat conspiratorially,
oblivious to your beauty splayed out
exhausted in the backseat.
"she's my
baby niece, and you better not
**** with her
heart, you hear me missy?"
and I assured her I wouldn't as you
laughed and laughed, bell peals
in the backseat and church bells
echoing in my ear, past and possible
future, sodium vapor lights
slipping away along the highway as
your aunt slid back into the passenger seat.
"so"
"so"
"she's quite a
character," I say, bemused, and your
eyes crinkled at the corners like
newspaper redesigned during crumpling as
kindling for the fire, blue and blue and blue
in the backseat.
"that's true"
"just like you"
"just like me" you agree,
crossing your legs, legs that go on
for dynasties in thigh highs and
your dress riding up too high for my eyes
to focus on the taillights ahead of us when
paradise is in the rearview:
love is
cold lobster bisque
in a big bowl in bed in the morning,
two spoons and a carton of orange juice
arrayed on the covers atop our
entangled legs.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
Men with picked voices chant the names
of cities in a huge gallery: promises
that pull through descending stairways
to a deep rumbling.
The rubbing feet
of those coming to be carried quicken a
grey pavement into soft light that rocks
to and fro, under the domed ceiling,
across and across from pale
earthcolored walls of bare limestone.
Covertly the hands of a great clock
go round and round! Were they to
move quickly and at once the whole
secret would be out and the shuffling
of all ants be done forever.
A leaning pyramid of sunlight, narrowing
out at a high window, moves by the clock:
disaccordant hands straining out from
a center: inevitable postures infinitely
repeated—
two—twofour—twoeight!
Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms.
This way ma’am!
—important not to take
the wrong train!
Lights from the concrete
ceiling hang crooked but—
Poised horizontal
on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders
packed with a warm glow—inviting entry—
pull against the hour. But brakes can
hold a fixed posture till—
The whistle!
Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two!
Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating
in a small kitchen. Taillights—
In time: twofour!
In time: twoeight!
—rivers are tunneled: trestles
cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating
the same gesture remain relatively
stationary: rails forever parallel
return on themselves infinitely.
The dance is sure.
1.6k
a semi's taillights lead us home
we litter cigarette butts along the highway,
our interpretation of breadcrumbs.
i hope that one day
(when our skin begins to slide from our bodies)
we are able to remember these nights.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
Every muscle in my body
Begs me to run
To chase your car
But then your taillights crest the hill
And disappear beyond
My mind lingers on you
Are you wearing your seatbelt?
Are you alert and emotionally sound?
After all
A distracted driver is just as dangerous
As a drunk driver
And no
I am not ok right now
Fear and feelings and Hydrocodone
Cloud my mind
Every time I watch you leave
Hurts more than the last
But this weekend was amazing
I had so much fun
Felt so loved
So safe
This weekend was not wasted
On painkillers and platitudes
This weekend was real
Tactile and truthful
My love is relentless
And I will pursue you
To the end of the earth.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
I used to write for fear of forgetting.
I stopped writing for fear of remembering.
Your arms loosening from around me
as you said final thoughts of us.
Your taillights trailing down the street.
Mirroring the floodgates from my eyes.
Now I have the typewriter you gave me.
An incessant reminder of all the words I never said.
All the words that are too late to make up for time lost.
I wrote to you anyway.
Without the intention of winning you.
Only hoping not to lose you,
the only person who could scare the **** out of me
and make me feel like I was floating
using one stupid look
that made me fall ceaselessly and unnervingly
in love with you.
I wanted you to know
that all of my convictions
that true love and fate
were just lies that are spoon-fed to us
so that we aren't starved by an empty life,
it all wavered when you smiled at me.
I want to tell you
that I used to never have dreams
and now you're in all of them.
Making reality that much harder.
Every letter was returned.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 3:38 AM UTC
I imagine there is something I could've done
Something I could have said
Something I could've broken
To make you stay a little bit longer
Even if it were just to yell at me
Maybe then it would've taken an extra ten minutes
To forget your cologne
Maybe it would've taken ten extra minutes
To forget your cheek bones
Maybe if what I had done had been so bad
Maybe that would've giving me an extra hour
To remember you
But my mom tells me there is nothing I could've have done
That would've made you stay for good
I got myself suspended hoping
The school would call you instead of mom
But they only had our house number
And your postcards didn't have return addresses
So there was nothing they could've done to find you
My mom misses your income I miss your arms
I miss your baseball glove under my pillow
I miss your left hand on my cheek
I miss my black eyes
The school was so concerned about my home life
Back when I had a home
Now I just have hallways with doors that lead to rooms
We don't go in anymore
My mattress is on the living room floor
And I don't do my chores
Because you aren't there to make me
And for all the things I can't remember about you
I still can't make myself forget
The color of your taillights
And no matter what I snort I can't seem to burn the smell of exhaust fumes
Out of my nasal cavity
I will forever be eight years old
Forever have a tear stain on my right cheek
Forever know where to put my mom's head when she cries
I've had too much practice at being a man
To ever call you one
There is not a faucet or pipe
That hasn't leaked since you've left
Which is either how long you've been gone
Or how little you did while you were here
She says it's been for the best
Your post cards stopped coming
My cheeks stopped swelling
Your anger stopped echoing in my ears
And now I can't even remember the tone of your voice
But my mom says it's a lot like mine
So I try to change it when I'm at home
I didn't write about you in my college admissions essay
Under the challenges I've faced section
Not under the regrets section
Not in the areas to improve section
I put your story under my proudest achievements
Because if there is something that I never intend to do
It's grow up just like you
No matter how many girls I've ******
There isn't a single one that could pack a punch like you
Your postcards never had return addresses
But that doesn't mean I won't find you
And when I do you better hit me back
It's the least you could do
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 1:28 PM UTC
You sneered at me because you thought I'd lied
and stared at me through drunken eyes of pain,
then waved me off as I tried to explain.
You turned away, just shook your head and sighed,
still unconvinced that I had not a clue
where she had gone since I had left her here.
You drove away, your taillights disappeared
into the driving snow, the wind that blew.
The same snow broke your fall as you collapsed,
but couldn't keep your temple from the bruise
that showed up three days later as you lay
in state but not in peace. I think I snapped;
I spoke to you, 'twas Dylan's words I used:
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears I pray.
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 2:01 PM UTC
I replay the hit and run of our relationship
since that New Year's Eve night
with every first smile since, every first date
every first kiss--
they all remind me of you,
butterflies fluttering among bitterness
in the pit of my stomach.
(I refuse to be left again. Flight wins every time.)
And they all watch, so curiously confused
as I leave them at an intersection,
(like you left me on your friend's doorstep)
the light blinking red, the same color
of the taillights of my escape
as I speed off into the night, and try
to forget you, your embrace, your touch
even as I mimic who we used to be,
over and over, and
(as my heart breaks) over again.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
The ****
muttered under breaths
of exasperation
is the language that you speak.
your life has become a series, unanswered
questions, curses, solitude.
you walk from dead end
to dead
end
crossing dark roads in between
as cars shine yellow eyes behind you
your shadow shrinking
swallowed by your footsteps
disappears
with the red taillights
fading into the distance
you are
lonely
yet
want to be
alone
you're angry,
angrily searching
for peace.
smoke rises from your parted lips
trembling
forming the lyrics
of that last rock record
it probably sold millions
your pain and frustration
caught in it
yet still
no one understands.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 5:54 AM UTC
I followed a mob march of taillights
back from work. Two rows of thirty flames
spaced out streaked the darkness
beneath the looming sparkler
adding stars to midnight sky.
Roman candle travelers eager to burn
out tried to shoot past traffic
on slivers of unoccupied sidewalk.
The closer they got to town,
the more stars faded above
their hoard of torches.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Everything can be going great. You're out on the town with freinds and you're following their car in front of you to the next destination. Suddenly, you're staring at the their fading taillights dissapear, you're in the center of a busy intersection and your car won't go into gear. Now the light has turned and everybody is waiting on you to go but all you can do is listen to the clutch grinding. Constantly worried, helpless, lost, and mostly dissapointed in yourself. Your mind races in empty circles looking for a grip to reality but you just sit and do nothing because all you can focus on is the spinning. That is what my adhd is to me.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
==<>==
porch
i watch the rain
crystal drops
off the eaves
drops fall
a beaded curtain
silabently hissing
as tho a spirit
from the
softly soughing trees
passes through
*like the chest
of an asthmatic child*
~~~
i will perhaps
paint today
the light is diffused
i guess i'll paint the rain
in blue watercolor
~~~
cars go by on my street
lighting up puddles
it's a bit dark yet
the taillights spark
in the bland pavement
sparkling jewels
on the showcase
of asphalt
*the garden swoons
with moisture*
~~~
my nerves singing
humming high voltage wires
as I sit i feel them
release
ping! ping! ping!
broken
electric guitar strings
~~~
like a devotee
i sink
into
the river
of
baptism
my mind
once smudged
with transgression
against the night
becomes
as snow
as light soaks
my robes
of repentance
~~~
*in deliverance the sky doth weep
i pray The Lord my soul to keep*
soulsurvivor
(C) 5/2/2014
rewritten 2/15/2015
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
It's better to back
into you
with all the lights on.
The headlights
swerving
like
doves.
The taillights making devil's eyes.
The **** in the ashtray
and
its
ruby.
It's better to pull into the driveway
while your husband
is
asleep.
He doesn't get up to take
a ****
in the night.
It's better to back into your guest bedroom,
with my back turned,
the boogie man in the closet is a
****** psychologist,
and may just spoil it
if we go looking for him.
It's better to back into the bed,
because I can drink the coffee
in your eyes.
You can sober yourself
over mine
if you want to.
It's better
not to back into
saying goodbye.
It's better to dismantle the brakes
and **** ourselves
over it,
than this constant reversing.
So,
over a slow goodbye
you grind your teeth
because you are no yellow light.
I would like to think
you have thick skin,
but you wear a perfume
like burning rubber,
and I know the backing in
is not your speed.
It's not mine.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
The dank speed on the expressway
never felt so lonely
The moving cars and their taillights
never felt so bright
If only my Zephyr were here, we'd enjoy the gushing sound
of the chatter and the unruly sound of the bus engine
I do, I really do miss you
not in the way I miss us way
not in the way I miss your old self
just in an I miss you way.
Oh Zephyr,
I am afraid of the happenings.
I am afraid of the sun when it's time to rise.
I am afraid of searching to what I am sure of
look, Zephyr. It is not always the easiest way out.
It never was for you to be a person full of sorrow.
I never saw that in you, but please.
Please do know I too am just as scarred as you, but I never saw a mismatch in what I do.
I do know. You're one worth-while-time of happiness
It may be hard for you to admit,
as I am afraid to say,
but yeah. I do.
Endearment for you my dear Zephyr.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
he just might break your heart but he has you dancing in the taillights saying, "one more song"
and every part of you is telling you to run but that look in his eyes say, "stay awhile".
he will make you feel like your walking on clouds but do not forget to come down every now and again.
becuase oh he just might break your heart, but tonight, tonight he is saying "I love you more".
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
So much for so called family
So much for so called friends
I'm sick of driving on this road that won't ever end
At the next exit, I'm gonna close my eyes and let my hair fly around the bend
This place is so gray, so old
With not one story that hasn't been told
Hushed whispers
But clear enough to hear snickers
Idk who made any of you, judge and jury
But, you don't know me, you don't know **** so I'm out in a hurry
I can't take anymore fingers pointed at me
With words filled with hate at a person I used to be
Hypocrites, everyone of you
And I'd like to remind you, that glass house is pretty see through
I wear my heart on my sleeve full of good intentions
Your heart is filthy, not even worth a mention
If your hearts and minds were ever clear
It would've been easy to see the face with fallen tear after fallen tear
Why would I ever want this life?
Tell me? Am I so bored that I just do things outta bitterness and strife?
In your soul you truly believe HE did all he could to fix our relationship?
And I just refused it?
Cause you all know that's why I distanced myself from the "family" right?
Please don't act idiotic and shake your head, point fingers and start a fight
I've had enough!
Heavy breathing, beat read face, and silent tears show I'm not that tough
But, I can no longer allow these strangers in my life to bring me down
I'm done forcing myself to come around
I leave broken every single time
If I keep letting you break me
Ill lose the ability to spit a rhyme
There will be nothing left of me
And there's just to much that I am to let waste on people who will never see
I opened my eyes, this exit has taken far from the old, dirt road I was stuck on
I look up, the stars fill the sky, the clouds are gone
The heaviness in my heart has been lifted
The powers finally shifted
I no longer feel banished and alone
I'm finally on my way home
My taillights fade into the night
And that'll be the last you ever see of me as I speed up and drive outta sight
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
I am an umbrella.
The cold rain has soaked my hair and
I can hear thunder in the distance.
I see the lightening strike the maple
Trees of Connecticut and
I can taste the garlic from my lunch,
Still on my tongue,
Three hours later.
My brain is fuzzing. The smell
Of gasoline permeates my nostrils
Like fresh baked cookies.
And I remember.
The car flipping, taillights over headlights.
Me in the front seat. We landed
In the ravine and sunk to the bottom
And here I am.
I walk across the busy highway
And reach the divider where
I find them.
I reach for the flowers and
They smell like rainbows.
Blythe, a moldy card reads,
Take care in the afterlife.
I place another next to it
From me that reads,
You will be sorely missed
Hasta luego.
I walk back across the highway
Headlights staring into my eyes
And open the front door of my car
To drive away. Moving on
Makes the pain go away and
If you forget, no one remembers
But I will until you come home.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC