Strange how things come together

I pop all the pills
To forget the memories
That were nothing but dreams

Loved by a new boy
It felt good, it was empty
Empty when full

Hickey on my neck
And he grabbed me aggressively
It felt like a cure

But then I see you
In colors available
Only in hazy dreams

Thinking about church
Just so I can sing and cry
With no one watching

Why do I do this?
The things that are bad for me?
I guess I don’t care

I remember waves
And clouds and horizons deep
In color you are

(I was writing these haikus in a stream of consciousness and they all kind of melded into one piece.)

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Late-night ramblings

•••
I’d rather talk to utter strangers than feel like a fucking drone.

And I atone.

For whatever karma sent me down this path, I lay for hours in the bath

Paired up with big pharma just so I don’t end up like Plathe. 
•••

Remembrances

I remember the crisp air.

I remember feeling alive.

I remember you, with short, brown hair and a pretty face, picking me up on a street corner in the rain.

I remember the windows fogging up and getting carpet burn on my face.

I remember feeling full.

I feel like I’ve died a thousand times since then.

Plumes

 

I dream of humid summer nights with smoke hanging thick in the air
Your hands wrap around my waist like butterfly wings
I don’t know who you are yet, but that’s what evokes
The feeling of being young and alive and invincible.
You take a hit and shotgun it into my mouth and
blow my mind as your lips part like the inside of a tangerine.

We go to the state fair; you don’t think it’s white trash.
You say, “let’s get on the Ferris wheel so we can be closer
To the stars.”
I say, quietly, intently, “OK.”
You look at me and run your fingers through my hair like you’re
Spinning gold.
You buy me cotton candy, you win me
A giant teddy bear.

Back at your apartment, I fall asleep on your lap while we watch some foreign film.
You wake me up to remind me that I should brush my teeth.
I think, “finally, someone who understands the small things
Like me.”

We wake up the next morning.
We make love.
We wake up again, this time for real.

 

900 miles

some days i wake up sweating, others trembling and cold. i press my head against the pillow to relish in its collected warmth.

my feet hang off the end of the bed.

i run my fingers along my eyelids, let the sun in.

i walk shakily down the hall on the cold tile floor to emerge moments later into the morning, chilly. i run my fingers through my hair, down my face. “wake up.” i light a cigarette.

i close my eyes again. i try to smell the ocean. i try to smell the redwoods. i try, i try. the subway, about 900 miles away, beep-honks to let me know it’s pulling into the station. the fog is rolling in over the trees. the waves are lapping at the shore. the cars are passing over the bridges.

i open my eyes and put out my cigarette. i become aware of its bitter taste. i believe i’ve missed the train.

n/a

The pit in my stomach is so deep it swallows up the only words I could have used to describe the feeling. The feeling of being…no, there are no words.

“Be safe,” my dad says. “Those trucks will knock the shit out of you.” I smile. Life already has. Give it to me.

Give it to me. What I need. What do I need? I wish I knew. All I see is the word “CUNT” spray painted on the floor of the bus. I’ll miss the Bay’s grittiness and I’ll miss the way the wind whips my hair when I go out on the pier right before a storm hits. I’ll miss the sound the train makes and I’ll miss the home I never had a chance to make.

Still, there are no words.

Two parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken —hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

Lord Byron