Last night I dreamt of your death
There was a wick in your veins
And I held the flame.
You said, "send me off like dynamite."
You said, "this is my sacrifice."
And for once I found Jesus
But not in a Bible or in a pew
I found him in you.
We can’t experience life without death.
You don’t know what love is unless
You’ve felt hate.
You’ll know what it means to be early
Only if you’ve been late.
This much I know of fate,
It’s not an escape.
It’s just a resting place.
Kind of like the bed I woke up in today
And I called you right away and I said,
"Last night I dreamt of your death."
And you said, "thanks for checking."
Summer. 2013.
This outbreak isn’t about you.
No, nothing ever really is.
We’re all too selfish
And that’s the truth.
Here I am again,
Gazing at my own face.
It’s pale, though, and un-powdered,
Untouched by me
Or any other man.
It strikes me tonight,
As ugly.
Perhaps only in the train’s
Fluorescent lights
And dark windows.
Sometimes I think I look like Joan Jett
And then sometimes I don’t.
But it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter that the pages are worn
Around the edges
Because God knows I am,
Although I don’t know if He is.
I have this shrinking feeling that He isn’t
Spring. 2013.
My mind is a callused horse.
I’ve been riding it too long.
It stopped in the middle of the path yesterday.
I could only whip it so many times before
It started to bleed,
Scream and bleed
And throw me off of it.
Not really sure if I’ll ever get back on again.
Last I saw of my mind
It lay dying.
I said my goodbyes
And walked on alone
Wearing raw, my soles
Until I too was bleeding,
Bleeding and screaming.
October. 2013.
Do you caress like a Klimt?
With Flowers in your hair?
With a bare back?
Are you a bare back lover?
I want to know what your love is like.
What your tongue is like.
I want to know what your rage is like.
Are you an angry lover?
Are you a hopeless romantic?
A bad kisser?
Can I test?
You know I won’t judge you.
It wasn’t entrusted to me.
That’s your job.
But still.
Are you ashen in the wind?
Are you a dirty candle’s dirty flame?
Do you leave wax behind?
I burn candles in alcohol bottles
Because I like the smell of tequila in the air.
And the drunkenness from breathing.
Can you even read my writing?
Sometimes I can’t even.
My hand can’t move that fast.
And my mind races.
But still I’ll try my hardest to pleasure you.
And you know I hate that word.
And I know you do too.
But let’s face it.
You want it as much as I do.
Run these fingers ragged.
Spring. 2013.
I’m old enough to bleed now.
I look down and I see red.
The shinning’s over
But the subway still smells the same
As when I was young.
I will still think of you sometimes
But with no emotion
Just passive observation.
Your memory will not hurt me
Or haunt me
Because our parting is
Nothing but timely.
December. 2012.