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.