There’s no disparity in this course I’ve steered, exclusions I’ve made and making sense of the moving air, now just removed.
The ground gave way and I fell 100 feet.
My legs splintered and I’ve scraped and crawled to get back to the top, or at least find a new opening.
Lower some rope. I’ll know what to do.
I heard all your voices. I remembered that you once gave a shit. You once put up with me.
All I did was provide the waste material.
No laughter, no recall- just the spite and the stars in the night.
Weary as I am. Weary as I am.
It’s cold here underground.
I miss you beyond belief. Beyond my own grief.
The sound of falling stars crashing all around me.
Your voices faint and wispy- disappearing into the stretch of clouds up ahead.
When the Giving Tree decided to take- it found out there was nothing worth having, the fate of all its past seasons and falling leaves, fell too late.
And you swore I’d get a second chance, but that was overturned 100x’s— all my apologies fake.
Just an endless negative trail of “sorry”– that word is as meaningless as “hello” when despondency leads to dead ends.
Hey Jon. do you remember that time we laughed until the sky appeared soft, molded by the brazen captivity of a 9-5?
We always worked until 6 or 7 anyway.
How was I supposed to know that the fleeting hours had constraints? We wouldn’t count on each other forever??
Maybe it was only me that needed you. The need to siphon and spit out exhaust. Feeding the endorphins caught in circulation; awaiting captivity. Anxious for release.
I don’t know what a gift is. I just steal from under the tree,
Regardless of what day, minus holidays and birthdays- no present will fill the void, no ego posed for stroke or accolade.
No stump awaiting me.
Take me to the spot where you swore you’d never forget.
Years where time disappears and the cortex holding onto useless debris.
Daydreams have no place in here, no space to breath;
Close your eyes and re-imagine yourself.
You look so pretty to the touch- where you left your heart in his hands.
…the first of many errant forks in the road
He’d walk you to safety, somewhere in the woods;
He took a long look, and a wrong turn and left you by the slabs that spanned vertical in fields- silent and wrenching in the long hours of night.
marble that freckles polished granite into dust
People “sleeping”– that’s what my parents used to say.
I’ll reframe it inside this mess of my head like a stone, the souls below my feet, and miles from nowhere…
So many people talking with nothing to say. I’ve felt like this for too long.
And maybe it’s my fault.
It always ends up that way.
Somehow it’s ok to float the raft to sea- no return to sender, and no need for a rescue party.
From the shoreline you found safety.
That makes it ok for you to turn your back and run….
I’d do the same.
Or I’ll just float out here forever
You’re so lovely when you get your period.
And blood is red mixing with the whites of your eyes, and pink is so commercial because it opens the cash drawer.
But you’re pretty fucking hot- and I’m just being objective.
Cause everyone looks good with the lights off.
You should be thrown into a ditch. All those who came ahead would’ve given their arms to get one up on you.
Just a morsel- and you stuff it in like its worth nothing.
We know how painful the colors bleed together and we hate each other regardless?
Don’t mix ether and medical waste– it’s amazing how we can stand in the rain. But we can’t stand each other
We can’t be apart.
Give me a head start, so I can get out of here
There were days when you were all that I saw,
and then again after the thaw.
Your face looked so stolid under all that ice- I swore I’d keep you that way, but now I relent.
It’s as if we were dormant and nothing meant,
sleeping through the steam clouds and dry ice and discontent.
Watched it crumble as the slippery skyline faded into the far away descent.
No one hears you at this dropout below the earth.
The oxygen turns to CO2, and the only thing you feel is cold.
What did you expect it to be worth?
The greatest friendships stripped to the bone.
Nobody claiming ownership for feelings they’ve never owned.
Remember that time I almost woke you up?
You slept through the first fifteen and since then it’s all coasting down hill.
The gravel pit is safe but smells like disaster; or rotting flesh- limited capacity to think, so who cares?
Let the vultures have their share…
The smell of fried meat and no distinction to what’s dead and forgotten. Trans fats are penicillin for the taste buds
You look so cute with your little bonnet wound tight and the skin taut but not excessive— I WONDER WHAT YOU TASTE LIKE?
It’s like I can smell you from here- the fragrant innocence, at least at a distance. And that distance makes it ok to stare.
your eyes wont blink, and you’d care if the world outside made sense.
No one will make you care about others.
No one will make you care for yourself.