Write, Alright?

I cannot snuff the monster out.

Gravity is the only thing keeping my feet on the ground.  A painful synapse and blessed reassurance.  When did I become so hard to reach anyway? 
There is no sunlight but paper cuts and I keep the monster lit with letters.  Eventually I’ll come back and by then I’ll be better.

…but then there was SILENCE.  Nothingness.  Inspiration dry as a desert.  Eyes washed blank staring at a piece of empty canvas.  Darkness.  Sentences have failed to keep the gap open.
Burning as a burden from inside a pit of doubt.  I still can’t snuff the monster out. 

The older I get, the less I even want to.

Cram me in a suitcase, baby.  Take me far away.
Or breathe me in as smoke

Girl, I’d be your ash tray.

What don’t they see?

There is an entire universe to be explored here
Should I line up to be middle-aged
already?

Wrinkle free and permanently
pressed

The pressure of not being pressured anymore
and in all that there was to see
You’d think I’d have seen it by now

The value behind worthless venture
and a perpetual gaze
in a parasitic space

Cram me in a suitcase, baby
Take me far away

Haze

I can almost taste you, even though I’ve never been so close.  A waltz down the longest road from intent to action, from clouds of smoke to inhalation, I wish we’d just dance already.  Let your demons ride themselves weary, the long-lasting, perpetual storm of sleeplessness.  I’m high when I’m with you, but I won’t ever get sleepy.  There is no rest for the already restless, and I’m a car crash already.  I’m just no longer reckless.  I’m high when I’m with you. I don’t even need the smoke.

Caterpillar.

A lone sun separates the night from the day and the ground from space and I’ve almost forgotten how your face looked as it squinted in the morning gleam.   I spent so much time feeling guilty that I lost my innocence.  As smoke billows from a small window in the basement, it is a grand epiphany for me, a white flag and a list of emergency phone numbers.  I am not lost without you.  I am lost within myself.

But I Am

There’s a place on my tongue where your body goes
heart, skin, & underwear exempt
with words filtered through pride

I don’t think I’ll ever know how you fall asleep at night.

There’s a place behind the couch where garbage goes
and I sleep there with every memory scratched into my eyelids
There’s sunlight shining in through them
a built-in canopy; the shape of a face

I don’t think I’ll ever know why I’m so easily replaced.

Like Litter

There is not a way to bandage that which doesn’t scrape or scar
No way to take back anything I’ve done in life thus far
There is no way to run away from the falling debris
There is either something right in her
or something wrong with me

There is not a word for this.  No way I could explain.
How empty must I feel before I feel fulfilled again?
There is no way to run away with amputated limbs
The scent I leave behind, somehow thicker
when she swims

In a pool that’s but a puddle now, where once there was a sea
There is nothing here but atmosphere, the dust of her and me
and as it falls like litter, as it comes to rest bereft
of all the things to guide me then
I only have what’s left

Everything Sounds Like The Fucking Beatles

Her palm rested comfortably on top of mine like it was meant to be there.  I knew that it wasn’t, and she knew that it wasn’t, but for a few moments it still felt right.  The air was thick and heavy, the sky black and illuminated by dead and dying stars, and there was something final lingering in the air.  It wasn’t pleasant, and neither was the sensation when her lips crashed into mine.  For me, as my mind tends to wander, I take these few moments as more than fleeting.  I take them as their own eternities, each apocalyptic in their own way.  So naturally, when her tongue digs cavities into my soul, I can almost hear my life imploding in on itself.  Last year, it sounded like a synthesizer, a piano and a ukulele.  Tonight, it sounds like The Beatles.  Everything sounds like the fucking Beatles, doesn’t it?  Cruel, calm and unsettling, her fingers slide toward my belt buckle.  I must be equal parts sadist and sadomasochist, because nothing about this feels good.

Mini-dv Tapes

The light hung in the air
like it was hiding something
within its foggy curtain.

Something transient
and cast aside like the litter
accumulated like snow
beside the dirty river’s
flesh;

she was sunbathing
and sun burnt.

Flash bulbs illuminated
the cold into bright
so I’d remember it forever!

I didn’t want to
that night.