April 27th, 2008

coy yellow lines, backed up traffic going east, traveling to far away friends i can't quite reach. parks, playgrounds, lakes, our activities repeat and spill over into the next night, and the nights that follow those nights. bonfires in the woods, beer cans, high school anonymity. pink parkas, we're mixing drinks by the light of flashlights and cigarette butts. all the girls are drunk, they're all kissing each other. they're sneaking off with some boy they barely talk to, behind some big rock or in somebody else's tent. and every secret they tried to keep behind that rock will flow out and float down through the patterns of florescent lights on the heads of people they don't learn with, they don't grow with, they don't change with. it's a deadly breed of similarity between us, our differences run only skin deep when we're smoking in her car and killing time driving in circles around those cul-de-sacs of our future. i've never before wanted a new stretch of coast to ally myself with. align my mind, intensify my heart, i wanna remember what it was like to be lost in love and lost in change and every footstep gets louder when the days approach quicker and the buzz from my beer is peeling off of me like shedding skin.

April 24, 2008

i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner. i can't be your prisoner.

not anymore.

Journal #4

None of this shit is about you. You never mattered enough. Get the fuck over yourself and man up.


In other news: Come home to Connecticut. I can't risk losing you again.

Journal #3

I'm falling apart. Oh, Former, I want to grab your face, I want to kiss you. I want to breathe out a softly murmered 3 word letter to you. I want to look in emeralds, I want to hear it back. I don't. I can't hear it back, because what then can I do? "Where is this love?" I can't bring it with me, what good is it far from me? But why do I speculate these foolish things? I know they don't exist. I can't muster it. I'm going to break apart at your feet. I've never needed tears to come more than I do now. Jesus, baby, I'm so fucking sorry for everything we did to each other. I don't know.

April 22nd, 2008

Ah, the simplicity of writing while in love. The words float out of you, don't they? It's just so much easier. Yeah, all that beautiful bullshit about locking eyes and sunsets and lyrics that fit in your fists. Your bodies are art together, aren't they? Sunlight and the hoods of cars, backseat bliss, all the jokes, the little nicknames, pet names. They're easy, that's easy. Bliss is easy. And when he destroys you, it's easy then too. When he's got your heart in his palm and he's not letting go of your ventricles until you swear you didn't sleep with him, until you fucking prove it, it's still easy then. You've still got the emotions left to yell onto some white lines and let it all fall into place. You've got that anger, it's found it's place. But anger, it always changes. Then you're plunged into some depth of despair, some fat lake you can't swim out of. Yeah you've got those cement blocks on your ankles, it's easy then, why are you complaining? Don't cry, your tears don't mean shit if you're already submerged. What a waste, sweetie, don't waste that energy. Use it to kick those skinny little legs to the brim of the lake. You can climb down the side, use the ladder. You can climb back in when you trick yourself into thinking it's not time to let go yet. I promise, it's always time to let go. I'll never lie to you, baby. I promise. I can't lie, look at you, you're too beautiful to lie to. You're too honest, oh baby, you kill me. Your innocence, it's perfect, it's destroying me. But hey, yeah, once you climb out, (maybe your friends will give you a push, you'll find a way) you'll do it all over again, won't you? 'Cause you just don't learn baby. You don't, you're so foolish! You ain't got any idea how it all works, do you? But hey, guess what baby?

They all leave.

Journal #1

I'm so sick of writing about you. I never wanted this. I wanted something that wouldn't let me destroy it. I wanted something with substance. Something that wouldn't feed me these beautiful lines every day, you know it all blurs into one big pile of loving bullshit after a while? I couldn't tell apart "I love you" and "I'm sorry". That's sad. I guess I wanted something that would stick around for longer than me. I ended up with a fucking coward. You. I never wanted that.

April 13th, 2008

you're all folded up like some love letter in a drawer, inside my desk at my parents house. too big to pack into boxes, load into a van, drive up the coast to my new beginning. knocking the nails out of the wood planks on the floor of our new apartment, it reminds me of knocking out your eyes. eyes on my back when i leave, eyes in mine when you catch me off guard, some nonsense i can't quite comprehend. i've always gotta sit down to take it, like a sucker punch my best friend threw in the middle of some fraudulent fight. she got me in the stomach, she put me on my knees. take it like a shot of whiskey, burning the entire way down, sitting on the floor with a girl who's got hair down her back, she's screaming some quote, waving her arms in the air, calling on summer dresses and sand dunes. her voice sounds just like the crisp crackle of a record, the ones we listened to in summer, on my couch, the T.V. was muted. molly ringwald was dancing in a pink dress, she was crying about something, but the only thing coming out of her mouth was a lyric to Big Country.

april 10th, 2008

oh my syndicate of silence: all the knowledge i've gathered up over the years, years spent crossing highways and state lines to stand idle while notes and cries spill out in front of me. the exchange of sweat and spit at such a young age, so early, so much time spent with the same four seat belts, buckled in to protect a case filled with the possibility of music. handing off, unloading vans, ready with a spare in case you destroy what you started with. the slow muzzle of sound, it takes a couple years but it'll come. i'll pay the price for my time monopolized by pancakes at 4 am and the lullaby of a passing semi. sparse light, snow storm, neon bracelet, rusting fronts, young and old, hands under your seat, cheap gas, cheap tickets, cheap home.