Off With You

Kind of. I'm in some fucked up emotional purgatory. I don't feel anything. At least for now. I've watched him cascade from up to low. He was there for it, but he was no witness. Only until he came down, & let me tell you, he came down HARD. The sky was grey then. It's grey most of the time. Grey, grey, grey. All of the termites are out there geared up for some fraternity style fuckfest. "Hey man, you holdin"? "Only if you kiss the tip"! "Fuck off"!! That's about it. The PINNACLE of culture. That's what we're here for! It ain't your god, it ain't no metaphysical, things happen for a reason, she's the one, it was meant to be type bullshit, no. FUCK. That's it. We're here to fuck. From your boss, who fucks you in the ass on your pay, to that coworker who you've been sticking it to on the sly, to that green ass 21 year old NYU student from Ann Arbor with too much money & too many bad ideas, who ends up going home with that creep from the bar with the leather jacket on who gives her so much cocaine it makes her sick & she can't scrub the guilt off for 3 days straight, that's about it. Let's all fuck ourselves into oblivion then, cause there ain't much else to do.

Break

I couldn't imagine it any other way. Or maybe I could, I'd like to. Either way, things go as they do. It's been sometime now. I always go. Memories, moments. I'm always here & there. It ain't easy. When the woman you love tells you she wants you, tells you that it feels right, tells you that it hurts & then goes off & fucks another, your brain just melts. I feel like a goddamn rug. I'd like to assert myself more. Grab her, shake her, bellow my unconditional love for her to the goddamn sky, but it's most likely useless. GODDAMN. I'm 23 at the time of this writing but I feel 3 times that. Every night, same routine. I shrink myself down to 6 inches & go for a swim in a bottle of god's amber liquid. I'm 23 at the time of writing this & my everything hurts. I couldn't shake the feeling, so I just bummed around waiting for something to break. I couldn't see it, so that's why I'm here. If you were in my shoes, would you?

Face

You send a message out into the ether, knowing full well the repercussions you face. You pause to follow the face. The sting is too sharp. The mark is left. You'll feel that one again in the A.M. Paid 6 dollars. 4 for the beer, 2 for the tip. 2 because I'm in the industry. I understand the plight of this occupation . Unless you really give a shit. Then you're just dull. That also depends, though. I'm burning up inside. That bathroom had walls covered in chalkboard paint. I LOVE YOU was scribbled on them. Chicken-scratch. You can tell a lot about that one by their handwriting. GODDAMN. Eh, what hell, I'm in love. I could drink up every ounce of that woman if she'd let me. Unfortunately, I can't. Probably wont ever again. You never know. In this place, where the pain never dulls. In this place, where the bulk of everything you dislike surrounds you, yet you somehow feel comfortable. In this place, where you're not found & on the way home, you burn bridges. Goddamnit. Goddamnit is all I have to say.

Recall

It's overcast. You can't breath. No way you'll go out there, no way. You fucked it, so sleep in it. & so, that's it, I guess. Over on that hill over there is a green house. Built by an industrious man with weathered hands. You'll probably never see it again. On a boat. You're being towed. You remember you had short hair. You could feel the wind cutting sharply onto your scalp. She threw something, you laughed. You were both on a dock. He took a photograph. It was cold then, but presence left you feeling warm inside. Your hands were cold. You couldn't grasp the neck. You faltered. Remember that smell? Recall is a motherfucker.

Fade

You're back. Same bottle, same table. Same goddamn bar. I couldn't think it. Sleep. That couch is too small, your toes curl whilst you dream. What were they talking about? I don't remember. Silhouettes paint a tiny portrait in my mind. There's four of them. Lights, cop, exit. Home again. Blue room, red chair in the corner. She's asleep. He's smoking over by the window. Sitting in the red chair, lost in thought. What's he thinking of? I can't remember, that guy left a long time ago. He seized up & she cried. There was blood. Fade to black. They're asleep.

Web

She's in bed with a higher up right now. That's okay, pretty girls tend to gravitate towards stability.
One can only be destitute for so long. Sullen. My cigarette keeps going out. She's on the subway platform by now. I have dreams. Good ones, bad ones. They leave me wanting more. I saw your web presence & succumbed to despondency. Bullshit. What a vapid place. Not the box, no, the web. Take a trip, go. It's better that way. It only hurts in the morning.

Something

Now that you're gone, you won't remember.
Or maybe you will, you always do.
You are the definition of love; you don't mean that narcissistically,
you mean to direct it more so towards your inability to end,
your trailing of thought, your depth of longing, your time spent alone, away from her.
Your want of return.
Those eyes.

I'm not looking for anything,
I'm just looking for something to find.

Take

& as it is, there is deafening silence, echoing roars & what have you.

There is a place; he'll be there & so will you.
There are many places;
Underneath that billowing wind;
Underneath the ground;
In the midst of rose petals, where the sun never sets
& the trees always dance.

Where there is always work to be done;
Those sounds of machina.

There will always be that place,
where the sound of children's laughter mixes in with her words
& those sounds of machina to offset the chaos.

There will always be that place;
He, nor she can take that.

Stone

I hold this stone.
This stone is weathered,
Beaten over countless hours by an unrelenting mother.

I carry this stone.
A charm, sentiment;
An idea.

I feel the groove my thumb has left on this stone.
It has been with me through suffering;
Therefore, it must also suffer if it is to join me.

I look at this stone.
I kiss this stone.
This sediment that once helped bear life,
Now stares blankly back at me.

It waits.
I imagine it smiles.

I am no stone.
When I see this stone, I understand it is something I will never be:

Eternal, wise, unbreakable.
& so it is.

The stone.

3rd Avenue

3rd avenue.  Old, decrepit people fill the sidewalk. NYU kids on the corner filming some shitty short.
It's windy. Warm. I'm wearing a goddamn skullcap. I'm on my way to see the beginning & the end. That one. All I eat is fucking bananas. Coffee. Booze. Bananas. Repeat. I haven't showered in nearly a week. Haven't brushed my teeth for longer. Haven't had a break. Respite is for suckers. 3:17. 3:17. 3:17. 3:17. It's 3:17 on 3rd avenue.

Indecisive Madness

In a park. It's beautiful out. The sun is shining brilliantly, bursting through the  canopies of the trees.
Their slow waltz with the wind makes the rays of sunlight dance on her lips.
They remain beautiful, but what words they are forming send pain from my throat down into my chest. Swallow. Gaze. I watch those lips read. The sun & the wind continue their slow waltz.
These words are clear. I understand them, although I wish I didn't.
Loss. Endurance. In indecision lies madness.