Unbelievable. The most toxic friendship I’ve ever had.
like the liquor on the counter
I feel cheap
used quickly
our strength diluted
she’s wine drunk and slurring her words
somethingabouthim
sadlonelysadlonely
sadsadsad
my glass can reach higher than a half-hearted smile
so I raise a toast instead
thought I would find you in boxes
a life trapped by cardboard and
the paperwork that keeps you here
but instead you are scattered
through phone lines and state lines
and in the hearts of other people
wood lives longer than flesh
so when your fingers leave the guitar
the music will still play
that much I know
I will one day trap your laugh
in the boxes of my memory
but it could never be contained
it will always be scattered
in the hearts of other people
music we will always hear
I wonder why progress looks so much like destruction.
4:52am
Nothing has ever hurt like this.
wipe away the film settling on your words
undress your crooked parts
I never asked for anything but something raw
tell me about the colour of your mother’s eyes
the last time you saw her cry
were they grey like springtime
or blue like her heart?
journal excerpts, 1.
- You can’t live in another person’s happiness forever.
- If it has had the power to affect me this much, I owe it to myself to take meaning from that. Even if it means letting go of a preferred explanation.
- I should let my guard down more often. It’s important to let people in sometimes, even at the risk of getting hurt. Why do I insist on making the simple things complicated? The most contradicting thing about my personality is my ability to willingly articulate everything but the way I feel.
March: courage.
how to run away
1. the cabinet in my kitchen will be empty
void of that familiar line of pill bottles
(open, swallow, close, repeat)
how I wish they knew your hand
just a little less
how I wish I knew your mind
just a little less
(open, swallow, close)
A pen and some paper feels like a much needed transition for at least a little while. Clouded, chaotic.
“Thank you for reminding me that there are still good people left in the world.”
I lost the idea of home a long time ago and I’ve been searching for its counterpart ever since - in the written word, a window seat on that plane, and maybe, just maybe, in someone else’s name. These cracks in the foundation follow me around like a ghost and I’m left with nothing but the echo of your mistakes - a fragile frame without a blueprint. It’s time to build something new.
2013: take my own advice.
I’m one step behind the clock, rushing to cross things off a continuing list, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to write all my words down before midnight. So maybe I’ll just leave it at this: the realization that the past twelve months have been monumental, the most important yet.
I’ve tasted bitterness and I’ve traded it in for something sweeter.
You told me you were entwined with foreign limbs and I felt your heaviness clutched to my own ribcage, a tide that refuses to stop kissing both our shores. Thought about the last time I saw you and how I couldn’t recognize your face anymore. Burned out in that same parking lot, the tires always scarring our pavement. You were smoking a cigarette, waiting for the lips of another boy to take over its spot between yours. A strange impatience and uncertainty. I never thought you’d be looking for yourself in any other place but his tired heart. This is awkward mornings and the ability to leave. It’s letting go of the hand you held the longest, the passing time between those cigarettes. Finding yourself as someone else and with someone else, quietly hidden under new sheets.
