your life, your very existence
is more than the ego's attempts at self aggrandizement
i can never see myself
in ways you thought you could
there's an aching emptiness of where we used to be
lisped, drunken voice notes
"i love you"s
maybe he heard
agonizing over change and parents who leave
grief is funny because
our youth only ever dies at once or not at all
"i feel like i always make you mad"
you said that to me once
like you weren't my reason
for everything
maybe he heard that too
i hope your everything is safe and that you can take these little words out of my head and turn them into nothing, which is where we are now
floating out there, gasping for air?
god, i hope not.
Tag: poem
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i buried my eyes a long time ago
so that i could watch the world above me
through a layer
where i could be safe
two blurred shadows, overlapping
and laughing
it's hard to see in the mire
followed you down the streets
on roofs of tall skyscrapers
the flashing lights of times square, dazzling
cozy cottages in the mountains, fire crackling
getting fuzzy now
but if i blink enough
i can still follow your trail
watched you get married
didn't even crytime passes
i survey less clearly now
i’m getting used to this
you see, things rot in the soil
but i heard sometimes they grow too -
there's an evil calm that snakes its way through this house
a quiet light that's almost too faint to see
and as i lie here on my back
i look up at the twinkling stars
the reds
the greens
the occasional flashes of stucco walls
i feel myself rising up to meet them
even though i think i'm light years away
i can hear the upstairs neighbors yelling
because sometimes
sometimes
love
isn't the answer
and gravity is too hard to bear -
i don’t know why
why there are two of me
the side that bites his wrists
and nurses wounds
that can’t finish a book
and is reading too much
guzzling top shelf liquor
while telling everyone i'm sober
the guy who’s going to text you
the most vile things
i would never do
and i’ll sit in this cold motel room
all year long if i have to
with its scratchy sheets
and mothball smells
you're clinging to me
but i'm cold as ice
now i'm frozen to the porcelain in the bathroom tub
a little doll
please break me
the world outside is moving
and my insides are churning
i’ll wait
toss and turn
until i’m someone else
in the morning
the curtains are still closed
and you tell me
“we can’t keep out the light”
and i know you’re right
but i'm going to tell you that
i'd prefer if it was dark -
if it wasn’t then it’s gonna be now tell me how how you think we’ll get out of this there aren’t many nights left of you and i i can feel it in my bones every inch of this place feels wrong forced like my smile in the picture when we picked apples you were so happy i never corrected you no one knows when i’m acting my crowning achievement i lost and left so much of myself back then i can’t remember what used to move me forward what made me wade through tides of uncertainty you always kept me anchored to shore so on the night it ended i can’t remember anything else except finally feeling free
tales from the cove 