I don’t want to talk about it
And I think that’s fair
To opt out of the survey
To not contribute to this public opinion
To not box myself in
You know I’m living up to the stereotype
I self identify
Do you know what it’s like?
Do you even want to?
You know I can’t sleep at night and I don’t feel him beating inside of me anymore
Like he’s beating somewhere else for something else
Greater than blood distribution beyond the institution
That so gracefully takes the blame again
When it’s people like you
Close minded to anyone who’s not open minded
So selectively open
So respectfully token
Just a pawn in a different game
Before all the shit
That’s the best time. It’s so short but it’s so nice.
And I’m excited to see you
And we have so much to do
And I like finding your clothes here
And you can drive my car
And every sleepover leads to sex
And I can’t wait to see you
Then I see you all the time
Then you’re always here
Then I can’t get rid of you
And you treat this house like a hotel and come and go in and out of my heart and mind
And then you stay away longer
And then I start to wonder what you’ve been doing
And then you’re “just talking” and then I do something you can’t forgive and I know it will change the way you look at me forever but I do it anyway
And then there’s all the shit
The opium of the people is opium
Call it what it is
Don’t spend all this time constructing this soviet society just to blame it for your ills
But you’re numb to the pain
You douse your nervous system in these chemical blockades to live in your haze
So you don’t take responsibility
So it’s not your fault, it’s everyone else’s and their natural inclination to hate
But not you
With righteousness or maybe that’s just
Your toxicity flickering in the moonlight
Go to the party
And drink warm piss beer with lonely strangers
No one here has anyone to go home to
That’s why they’re here
Themselves to sleep
Nightcap – such a graceful word
Like a private evening award
Like an 80 proof nyquil
I’ve always found pills more effective
But whether your medicine is swallowed, snorted, smoked, or fucked
The anxious man still wakes in the night
Naked, in a cold sweat, with a mouth so dry and breath so stinking and caustic no one will ever kiss him
Not his mother. Not the whore in his bed.
Not the woman he misses
The one he left because he had to
Because otherwise she would have left him first
The one whose forgotten clothing the whore sleeps in
He wraps his arms around his pillow
With a straddling grasp
And stares away with pursed lips
Like a 216 point infant in his crib
Only there are no guardrails and the ground is closer
Where they wrote
Like it can be reduced to one dark room and one cluttered desk
Like they couldn’t possibly write in their heads in a silent standoff in a loud fight, inside a literal or figurative jail, in between moments of life in between day and night with a caustic partner snoring beside them or alone on the couch getting drunk in front of the TV again
Where they wrote
Where it all happened
Where the letters became words and the words become thoughts and the thoughts became universal expressions of hate and love and pain and suffering
The healing process, the regeneration of fresh skin cells over a rusty wound,
Why do some things heal and others stay broken?
Shattered glass can never be put back together
Broken hearts beat separately in undead bodies
Shells of soulmates once connected, conjoined by fate and lust and even love
Though we never said it enough
There’s a lot of things you should have said
That you don’t remember until days have passed and your mouth’s filled with blood from biting your lips and kicking yourself for not saying it in time
Because you’ll never know
When you can’t say it again
Something about sex, it’s still so relevant
Still such a driving force behind establishing a relationship (true, or false, or otherwise)
No matter how old I get, he gets, they get, the game is still played the same way … take the time to connect emotionally, conquer, then flee
How is it still conquest and peace?
What kind of peace my life would have if I wasn’t always on guard, second guessing, investigating lies I just assume exist?
“Why would you think he’s lying to you?”
Because he did it before and I didn’t catch it because he still chose her, ring and all, even though I have better hair
Because he still brought her to Paris – though I hear he’s left her now
And I ran away and they’re still everywhere
Chasing roses, constraining my ocus, and even though I know it’s all a scheme he doesn’t mean
I hold him close and whisper
Say you’ll never let me go
You’re getting too old to run away
At this point you’re just running
The ground wears beneath your feet like you’re digging a ditch, your own shallow grave to lie in restless peace, thoughts jogging with what ifs, what could have beens, what you didn’t do
Think hard and clear about what hurts
And who hurt you and why you didn’t stop it and what you can do now to spread it like a virus, like cancer, like infectious waves
You want to take the ship down with the captain, to lower the sails before they’ve even caught wind. You’re knocking down cocoons and stepping on eggs, and ending lives before they’ve had a chance to live and sin and do you wrong
Because everyone’s done you wrong
It couldn’t have been you
What purpose but LOVE stirs the soul?
Waking, working, sleeping, thinking, living, dying, all are physical acts, we are slaves to our own instinct until love makes us forget looming fatality and escape the constrictions of these cyclical patterns. If nothing happens when we die, at least I loved you.
At least I felt your breath and skin and alive in your eyes. At least we touched, at least we fought, at least we cried and screamed and bled and begged and held onto each other like we could stop the world from spinning. At least hitting you made me feel relieved and guilty and so many feelings I’m glad I felt.
I’m a loiterer in this world, lingering in the corners and crevices, holding onto hopeless memories haunting me like your shadow never left like you did. Like you didn’t pack it with your dresser and your spices.
He stayed and cast himself upon me like an apparition trapped in the corner of my eye, lurking me my whole life in every situation, in every bed it hovers me until I sleep it suffocated my dreams with nightly terrors of my regrets replayed on a loop in my tortured mind with metal surround sound and REM HD and when I wake up
Feels like the very next day
My dear, how dare you
You can get to me, but I can’t get to you.
Two lit windows in a sordid building off the main road in a parking space with no intention of getting out but blocking the other cars isn’t neighborly and getting out crosses the line.
The lines on your face from years of getting what you want and just having it blow up in your face. I bet you do this with all the girls, those girls you told me about that you used to love, used to be married to
I won’t break up a family, I won’t be that girl, I cried the whole way to Chicago because I knew sitting next to you in the secret coffee house would be the closest I’d ever get to being held by you in way I never thought I could be held before, big hands, warm chest, I’d touch your hair the way we all want our heads to be stroked.
Don’t make me that girl, you’ll never love that girl, you’ll keep waiting for her to cross another no trespassing sign.