Cleaning up corpses on the freeway,
Bloody spatter for miss November.
Moving on from Hollywood.
We’ve missed November, I’ll start when it’s over
And over it’s been in my mind again.
So it goes, lost in the wind.
Circling back, dropping the pin,
In a room too full to notice it’s ran out of gin.
Startled into recompense;
Turning it over til it all makes sense.
November was missed and I’ll start again,
Buckling under the rain.
So it goes, running thin.
You’ve grown too fat, you’ve gotten too short, the mind scolds the broken heart.
She’s working around it but nobody notices the note left out in the bin.
So it goes,
She found it hard to remember,
Her way back into life again.
So it goes.
Don’t stop me.
This one was kind of a mish-mash of ideas on my drive home late at night, hence the sort of jarringly different stanzas as the tone of it changed once I got home to work on it.
I tried adding little transitions between stanzas as a way to make it flow a little better. Not sure how well it worked but I liked it enough to publish it, so.
Thank you for reading!
I’ve felt skin hot as steering wheels
Bursting through a sickening cityscape
I see you leaving—don’t forget your tears
There is dust on the dust of your slight renown.
Sometimes I convince myself that my teeth could bite through metal
That the razor edges would do nothing to the soft parts of my mouth
That I wouldn’t bleed
Sometimes I think that I could crush glass between my fingers
That the glazed sand would find no purchase on my soft tissue
That I wouldn’t tear
Sometimes I imagine that if you were here I would be able to stand it
That the sound of your voice would be nothing but a residual melody in my mind. Your face an inkblot.
That I wouldn’t crumble.
But I know, I know, I know.
The moments tick by and I know.
I bleed, I tear, I crumble.
I am no match for the dreams that play in my head
Enchanted and allured by you,
Your presence changes every tune
I still remember that sweet afternoon,
When everything grew over summer
I’m visiting the ghost of you.
I was hoping we could talk it through,
But I’m the one living in these old haunts of ours
And so I guess the real ghost would be me,
Sometimes being an adult feels like an elongated version of deciding what to play when you’re a kid
Run around until dusk and your only concerns are when lunch or dinner is.
I liked that because it was a lot simpler
You didn’t have a lot of options so you just sort of experienced whatever was in your path
I remember waking up without a plan and just being excited to get out and “explore” even though I could easily run around our neighborhood with my eyes shut,
But I always found something new. A family of rabbits, a conversation with a mockingbird, stashing a makeshift time capsule in the safe crook of a tree.
I really don’t like how far away that feels, sometimes. I get caught up in this day-to-day
Worrying over every word I say
Am I creative or am I just fueled by consumption of media
Am I smart or do I just parrot words that I hear
What part of me is me and what parts are a conglomerate of everything else?
And do I live for myself?
Hard to tell.
I have yet to sort it all out.
Orpheus, I’ve often wondered, why did you look if you knew your love was behind you?
But time and distance, silence and pain are enemies of love.
You feared she was gone.
I understand now. That longing, burning sensation of loss. You won’t know if you’ve made it until you see the light, or turn around and watch your life taken away.
Small mistakes tumbling down and piling up
Unfortunate lies soon discovered bury us under their once insignificant weight
Where were we living that we were so free?
What ever gave us the idea of exception from pain?
A child’s naivety
A Romantic heart
We’re torn apart
I do miss you.
I forgot to post yesterday! That’s my April Fool’s prank, I suppose. This is one from a couple months ago
The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door
What is it for?
Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound
You know I’ll always be around
Until I’m not.
Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got
Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you
Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet
Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense
Innocence lost lost lost in every note
Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,
I’m too late.
Frost bitten, love ridden
Cracked and bitter lips frame one of those smiles that keep you up at night sometimes
My coat does nothing to keep out the cold.
In this quiet kind of sadness,
I’m missing those warmer months.
A shorter one from a couple months ago