31 October, 2012

white waters


you are too many things;
you are stellar and then manic, necessary and then disposable, present and then wandering, and (now) so very clueless. you seemed to know what you were doing at first. you knew so much and i wanted to learn (and i wanted you) and things were easy and fluid and you were a river and i was a paper boat and you took me places and i rode you to banks and oceans and we got by. but now, oh how time has slowed us down, or sped me up, or pushed you away. and i am so very bored, and you don't have a clue. i wish you did, (how i wish you do).

i am a blackhole;
i always need more, and i've needed more for awhile now, but i'm trying not to kill everything i touch. i don't want to destroy or devour or damn. and you are a lot of things and i thought a lot of things, that would be enough. but i have ruined you, you've become lackluster and i've grown bored (so bored, so very bored). and you are not boring, but i've killed it. i'm sorry.

i wish you knew;
that i'm done, that things could be different, but they aren't and i'm done. and i'm sorry.

27 October, 2012

oh


his forehead crumples, mountain ranges, joy division;
her eyes are crystal, mental lapses, television;
summertime, sleeping in, his voice in whispers
hope implied, the night is young, take heart and hold her 

23 October, 2012

(still drafting)


He tucked whatever was left in his left breast pocket, shook his umbrella, opened it, and walked away.

It felt like summer, except inside you, you know? It felt like galaxies that were spinning forever suddenly stop, and then rushing through you. And then ravaging you, but in a good way, so then when they’d resume spinning, you’d be left bare. Then in your veins, where blood used to be, there would be memories and the faint scent of happiness. That’s what it felt like.