1/29

Some people are too weak to leave.

I'm too weak to stay.

It's right, surely. I can't stay, trapped, in four walls, with a woman that loves, only the reflection of herself coming from my eyes. And I love you, and you know I love you, but love isn't enough today. Nor will it be enough tomorrow or the next day. You're making and building your life and I'm going to build mine. Without you.

I have this problem, when I love someone, the feeling doesn't go away. I feel like it never really does for me. I give everything I can and everything I know and everything I feel and then, after, I'm left with everything you know too. 

How do you unlearn how to love?

This summer has been one to write about. With everything that happens to me, and everything I feel, and everyone that comes, dines, and leaves, I learn one thing, no amount of love is great enough. If it's doomed, it will fall apart. It will eat you alive. You will cry. You will hurt.

But with this, you will grow.

I think I'm writing this as my own closure. I haven't cried, yet. I also don't think I'm going to. 

It's just fucking insane! Fucking insane and I hate every minute of it. 

I've let go of everything I've ever loved. (I do not regret any of these) 

I've let go of the first woman who brought me up to break me down.

I've let go of the woman who taught me how to go Downtown and all around. She was also the first and the last one. I consider her the only one.

I've let go my small passions and past times, I've let go of my dreams and goals.

I still have myself. And truly, that's al we're ever left with.

My mother has told me that since my first day of middle school, and I never payed it much mind. I always thought she hated me and shit, but she was/is right.

We are born alone. We die alone. Anything in between is just a pastime. Breathing is just a pastime.

I'll never tell you I don't care, and I'll never tell you that I don't love you, but I won't name you. This is the last time I will ever speak of you. 

I just wish we had met in another life. Where it was only you and I, our love and our bodies.

I will love you until my heart gives out. That's all I can give you.

Goodbye

Don't Say A Word

You’re everywhere and nowhere and this flicker of something that

I believe, so wholeheartedly, that I can grasp at. I’ll shut my eyes, 

just for a moment, and I can almost imagine the sweet touch of

your lips against the curve of my neck. Hush, you. Hush your

words. Hold me so I know how it feels to be the only one that can 

make you feel like the sea isn’t closing in on you anymore. Hush,

for one moment, so I can light the darkness that trails like phantoms around your ankles. Hush,

because I can almost hear the words that you’re longing to say, but I’d rather you whispered them into my sleeping ear so that the

creases of my pillows will hold you in the moments where I miss you the most. Nights lately have been rather lonely, so I’ll just

 listen to the songs that you’ve played out for me in my name and I’ll pretend that these eight pillows that I keep wrapped around

 me can make up for the warmth that I wish I could mold into a you, a boy with fox eyes and rivers in his blood. Hush, so I can

 believe that you’re more than a figment of my overactive imagination. Hush, so I can press the stories of our palms together, trace 

the roads of your veins against my own, feel the walls around both of us crumbling. You’ve weakened me, rendered me helpless.

Vulnerable and childish. My breath is waxing and waning but I know that I can melt into you ever so dearly. Don’t say a word. I,

 know what you’re feeling. I know you, I do. I know that my breath is the evenness and steadiness of yours, and I know that we

 both crossed our fingers that night once upon a dream. You’ve branded yourself into my skin, into the fragile bones of my chest.

You’ve sewn your heartstrings between my collarbones, wrapped your limbs around my own until we’ve become nothing but each other. 

I am you and you are me and we are we. Us. Everything and nothing and something extraordinary. 

Years, ago

You were flipping through old notebooks and found an entry that made you pause:

Is it possible to feel claustrophobic in ones own skin. Or is this me loosing control. 

You didn’t pause because of what I had once written. But rather because it contrasted to what I wrote you now:

And the reason I hold you so close, the reason I try to bury myself inside you, the reason I wish you could just absorb me, is because I feel more comfortable in your skin than I ever did in my own. 

Devour me. 

Please, Please

I wrote a poem once

so beautiful, it reminded me of you

and of the way you stood in that photograph

under the oak tree, that early fall when we fell in love

I don't have that photograph anymore

the poem either

I just couldn't bear to have people I don't know read it

I couldn't let them see you, the way I got to see you

So i burned it

just how you burned everything, just how you burned me,

away.

I've got these feelings that bled into my knuckled every time I bit into them

without words to say that I could fit in the space between your lips like a kiss or something

you've stolen a thousand times before

you've left these fucking patters on the gravel so that'd id never forget even when i wanted to

but i just don't know how to speak in chords, how to make my voice match the deep red wine

and the burning corners of stars like yours

letting you rediscover the truth on the tip of her eyes is the most difficult.. 

but look at your smile; look at mine

shadows here, thunderstorms there 

STEEL KNIFE / MY WINDPIPE

And you feel really fucking alone and no one loves you and hope is only a four letter word, and you hate that number and you hate her and she hates you, and nothing matter's and everything is nothing and nothing is 

everything and, and..

LONG LIVE BUK

Happy Birthday to one of my favorite writers Henry Charles Bukowski.
Even 18 years after his death he is still considered one of the best.
Recognition is the only type of fame he ever wanted, but he left with so much more.
This post by all means will not do his 73 years of life justice, but recognition is needed nonetheless.
LONG LIVE BUK

Ghost

I'm really glad I have you to come home to

Death

24.

I wish I was sober

And then you're still 

Everyone is moving past you 

But you're still there

 It's like you're waiting for someone 

But you don't know who they are and you wouldn't be able to recognize their aroma if it hit you in the face

And you're still

Waiting

Still 

Loving someone,

 that has never been in a 6 mile radius of you 

And you're, still  

24 = Nothing

I have so much to tell you, the problem isn’t that I’m running out of time, I’m running out of room, this book is filling up, there couldn’t be enough pages, I looked around the apartment this morning for one last time and there was writing everywhere, filling the walls and mirrors, I rolled up the rugs so I could write on the floors, I’d written on the windows and around the bottles of wine we were given but never drank, I only wore short sleeves, even in the winter time, sweetheart, I've written for much too long, but I'll never be able to bring myself to a halt, forgive me.

Where Millionaires Go

I come in fits and fevers, smoking cigarettes, throwing it out the window, wanting everything. I will swallow you whole. I find myself calling hundred dollar bets, winning and losing more money playing cards that I do at my day job. I find myself waking up in a warm bed with a girl who loves me and I do not love back. We're just trying to add to our lives. (Lies) We're just taking what we get. Tree line the snow covered streets and my heart? It's right here. While looking at the sun I close my eyes, and see lines with dots like constellations in the sky, and one day..

I'll be there too.

Clementine

I want to say what everyone knows, but you haven’t figured out. If anyone could have saved me it would have been you. Everyone and everything has gone from me, but the certainty of your goodness. I cannot go on spoiling your life any longer. I still am not able to say goodbye, but it’s only because, I don’t think two people could have been happier than we were. 

January 26th 2012

The days fall out those deep pockets of yours, one after the other

Soon you’ll need a new jacket with tougher skin

and seams no one has felt. Soon you’ll bring

the old books into your bed and sleep easy

 but not alone. It must be July again.

This must be the part of the story where you 

refuse to say how the bodies you’ve walked toward

continue walking in you. With soaked shoes

in a calm procession to reach your lips..

I’ll forever walk up and down the narrow streets of your heart

Last Night

And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it’s already happened.

Enfin

More than anything, I wanted to be able to walk away. And it seemed like the one thing I couldn’t do at that moment. Like my feet were glued to the pavement and my lips and tongue suddenly weren’t able to work. It was the moment I knew I had been waiting for, for so long. To tell her just how broken I felt and how empty and wrong everything felt without her next to me. That everything I did reminded me of her and no matter how hard I tried, nothing I did felt completely right. But to declare that I’m so strong and I always knew I would be okay without her holding my hand. That this is what life consists of. Of “I’m sorry’s” and “I miss you’s.” And I knew that we all had to fall at some point, but I wasn’t ready to fall. I tried to leap but had nowhere to land. “I guess I thought you’d come back.” I said with tear filled eyes, and I didn’t want her to see me weak, it was that last thing I wanted to show her. The pit of my stomach lurched forward and I think my heart fell out of my chest. I was never good at making statements but with nothing to lose, I had everything to gain. “I want you to say something. I wa- want you to know. I want you to understand and feel everything I felt when you decided to just leave. To just waltz out when the timing felt right for you. Well the timing wasn’t right for me. I woke up every morning with an aching heart. I hoped you would come back and every night when you wouldn’t, it felt like I was missing something. I want you to say you’re sorry, I want you to say you missed me. I want you to say that every minute you were gone that you wished you were here. I want you to say anything. “babe..” she choked out “but most of all, I want you to know that I don’t need you. Because during the month that you decided not to visit or call or communicate, I found something that you could never give me. I found myself.” And in that instance, my feet swiftly turned me to face the sunset and I walked away from something I wasn’t sure seven months ago I would ever turn my back on. I always thought I needed someone to love me. But loving myself was something I needed far more.

VII

For anyone who is reading my pieces, they aren't recent
More writings will be put up throughout tonight and tomorrow afternoon
After that, they will all be of the day posted
Thank you for your attention.

Her Favorite

I spilled my glass of cheap red wine as i passed and your favorite dress would be forever stained but you hardly cared, i was busy writing odes to your lips and the indent in your cheek and the perfect green of your eyes: lit up as if by fireflies from the inside because you were incandescently drunk and at the point in which everyone in that cramped ugly apartment was your best friend

I was floating, as if touching the dirty ceiling of the room, you looked down at yourself in your stained dress, your lips too red your hair static-y from dancing, your eyes fluttering up at me: enchanted by the oh so casual way you held the stem of the wine glass and lifted one rogue strap over your pale shoulder blade, god i was really such a fool for you

the next morning: the mascara you left on my pillow case doesn’t feel like a victory in the harsh light of day, you left without eating breakfast. dry mouth, heavy eyelids, your stained dress, you disappear through the walls of your bedroom like so many women before you

December 11th 2011

And you taught me what this feels like. And then how it feels to lose it. And you showed me who I wanted. And then who I wasn’t. And you ticked every box. And then drew a line. And you weren’t mine to begin with. And then not to end with. And you looked like everything I wanted. And then became something I hated. And you get thought of every day. And then not in a good way. And you let me leave. And then wish I’d stayed. And you almost killed me. What a shame I didn’t die.
I always thought you’d come back. I thought that we would always be, well…us. We’d say some things, you’d leave but you’d always come around. You always did. But this time, this time you turned your back and left, with not even a glance at the mess you left behind. This time, it was different. I don’t want it if it’s different, I don’t want it anymore, I don’t want it at all.

Tap Water

We throw our suitcases and our hearts on the floor the minute we get in the room. We’re exhausted from just getting here and a scratchy throat, holding back tears, free coffee in the lobby, checkout at noon.
We unpack the things we brought and the things we have been using to hold ourselves together all these grey years. You have never painted on your own walls. Maybe that would fix things. It’s dark outside and this isn’t even a small city, it is just some place where we go to rest in our sadness together instead of on our own. Days with pass by in what seems like a few hours and we wont nearly get to say everything we wanted to say to each other. These fractured lives we share, similar shards of glass, puzzle pieces that almost fit. We empty our hearts into each other’s mouth and it taste like tap water.

Death is beautiful

Somethings,
No matter how many times said
Or how many times done
You’ll never understand them
I’ll never understand them 
I’ve been on a nicotine and gingerale diet for a couple of months 
I used to love, this
I used to live for you 
Death would be beautiful 
I once thought you were too 
It’s 1:04 am, I’m in a crowded subway station with my green eyed mother who never learned how to be one, who put fucking first, money after, and her children last
I love her nonetheless

I’ve never asked to be loved, I’ve never asked for sympathy nor empathy, or anything else
Cheaters, liars, whores, drunks, smokers, junkies, presidents, white/blue collar workers, 9-5 businessmen, ..
Do you understand? We’re all the same, do you honestly believe that you’re different because you have money? Because your name is in the paper, because you’re fucking this one and that one? Because your mommy gave you up and your daddy got his nut off and left you too? Who the fuck are you?What do you stand for? Yeah, fuck what you stand for, fuck who you are, here, you aren’t anything. You aren’t shit to me. 
We’re all going to fucking die anyway.

I.

Please don’t call, you wouldn’t like me outside of the space we constructed for ourselves, my eyes won’t ever be as blue as they seemed to you that night, and I know that your hands are probably not as wonderful as they felt, and surely your smile is not quite that devastating normally, and imagining your voice is better than hearing it over the phone line, I’ll file away the memory of your kiss, I’d have to destroy it if I ever so much as glimpsed your lips again.