December 19th, 2007

i have made a really good decision about what to do when it comes to looking at your hands. i'm going to cry more tears over this dialect of dejection, more tears over someone who doesn't have your name. your disposition. your memories. your plans. who came years before you, in waves of cocaine and brotherhood. who had the possibility of loving me, keeping me, monopolizing me, but didn't. and thank god for that misguidance. thank god for unpinning my wings. thank god. thank, you, god. thank the god i lost faith in when you threw your fist too close to my nose. thank you thank you thank you. thank you for always punching the wall, next to my left ear, every time. thank you for tearing it apart when you threw it all at my ankles, thank you for always burying me too far down, thank you for deception, thank you for nose-games, thank you for choosing white mythology over me. thank you thank you thank you, thank you for the lines, the sweat, the sorrow. thank you for never touching me with those hands. those filthy fucking hands. the hands you put through your television set when that electricity died. my bloody knuckles. my bloody fucking knuckles.

November 17th, 2007

there's been a breach in our bedsheets, and in the middle of the night on my first night, we made contact. radios crackled and it's time for you to start regretting me. you say, "no no please, deny me and offer me, the battle below my belt burns our fire stronger, don't you see? don't you see? don't you see? offer it back to me with the grace in which you took it."

i keep my silence inside and i keep my mouth sewn to prevent. you. me. our lives. you ask for answers and i give you only what i can---my misunderstanding. i'll keep dancing circles and you can complete your creed, or decide what it is you must say to make the glow in me less real. demoralize me. destroy me. take me out to breakfast. remind me what it is like to be up on that cross. you know only you can.

November 4th, 2007

it's a struggle to regret it every time you open your mouth to try to force it, or to shower and cry in disappointment with yourself, with who you've let yourself become. how much you've gained, how much you could be losing, and the differences you've made between a hospital stay and this minute of the day. it's a struggle every morning and every night, compounded with school and you and them. your friends read books to understand the difference cortisol levels make, but they can't and they won't. i envy their inability to grasp.

October 16th, 2007

i've smoked nearly two packs in the last weekend. granted some were given away, but they're burned up and on the sidewalk, in ashtrays i can never seem to reach. in bed with you is a hole i can't fill, a void that won't close, and a fond memory of what it was like to have stomach to back contact. i never appreciated that feeling until last night.

i've got the stars aligned just right in order to meet you this afternoon. and, if i don't, i guess you'll say it's my fault, it's always my fault. i woke up this morning with stress in my neck and i can't hold my head high, how's that for symbolism? i'm going to smoke my last 8 cigarettes and let the tar fill my already crippled lungs, and i'll remember nights in your car, driving with your knees.

September 6th, 2007

i'm paralyzed. the days are passing, the chances are lost inside our bellies, and the last call of my 3,500 mile escape plan is ringing in my ears behind your backyard. sep erat ed by land and passing time but connected through miscommunication, storybook mishaps, deception and a crippling fear of what could be, had i tried a little harder. i wish i could grab you and kiss you and tell you the truth, but i can't, it shakes my bones out through my muscle. you gave me my space but you closed the door, so i'll just wait outside with all of our possessions and bottles and messages, maybe you'll come outdoors to give me my brains back. those eyes and those hands, those scars, those memories; they rape your childhood and take you far from where you wanted to be by now; living your life through the dialect and rhetoric of mavericks and gunslingers, the steve mcqueens of our generation, the muscle cars and the silhouettes, do you remember when i saved your life? you were burning alive in that barn, but i broke your door down, and we made it through the tar without scaring our lungs. somehow we caught fire that summer, and our hair ignited in the chances we gave each other. if i could open you up, calculate your mistake, solve your problem, i would, i would be there holding your hair in bunches while you vomited up your honesty into my lap.

give me the words you've been waiting to tell me.

August 22nd, 2007

i love you i've got you i love you i've got you i love you. it was so cold under the mountains where we kissed, our hands shook with each blow to the belly, but we made it out okay. all of our secrets and our controversies, those minutes we spent underneath are legends to our friends. years we spent on hold, ripping our hair out at every backwards step to every party we ever went to. i remember pink bottles in your medicine cabinet, how they kept your mind at bay, when you drowned yourself in them, drank yourself to sleep. you missed her but you didn't let her hold on too long to your coat tails, you kept your lies going, the separation made it easier. you lost weight, what weight? you lost friends, you lost your mind, but you kept me, we kept each other inside boxes, no return address. the classes we skipped to dance under the stairs, all of your beauty and silver eyes made it easier to live under you. we took turns and we skipped spaces and cheated our way to the end that we thought was coming sooner, but it never came. it still isn't here. looking at you from illegal angles i know now that our bones were too big for our skin, we weren't supposed to be suspended from wires above eachother like those years told us. your hands and mine don't fit and our abandoned board games are under your bed where they belong, with our clothes and shedding skin and thinning hair. you're clawing at my brains and i've got you here, whenever you feel too ugly to step inside.