sellenimonie

I’ve was waiting for my head to produce something less vicious when; he said look at you now, you’re past the point where words can make do. I nod in agreement. (Except I think living like you do is a kind of abasement.) I’ve been tired of rhyme schemes and sought a replacement for the broken reality books could no longer improve. He said: I’ll wait for your head to produce something less arrogant. Churning waters create mile high waves that swallow me by accident, and leave a gaping crevice over which even he can’t move, he patiently climbs (I think living like I do is a kind of abasement) down into the sinki

I wish I were more drunk because then, the word would come like ships on the distant horizon not like, the words of a friendship long gone and done not like the happiness of a love long past its prime I wish I were more drunk because then, the relics would be clear in the ground and the archaeologists would not have to erect fences, and order no build zones instead, they could dig up the dinosaur bones in their hollow shells and build shopping malls for consumer joy the next day and profit and profit and profit and something that distinguishes profit from profit and makes it a reality that we cannot escape much like we cannot escape the alco

With love, from me to you after I’m gone, these are the best and worst parts about you: Suddenly waking, you toss and turn without fail, waking me in the process because I guess I’m a light sleeper but I don’t mind. I can expect your arm around me as I can expect your need to hold me, to touch me, to hug me, to bury yourself in me, even in your sleep. You never fully wake, and walk around dazed for a few minutes, sometimes more. This is when you’re most vulnerable. Almost as vulnerable as when you see me cry, though I suppose you’re getting used to that. Almost as vulnerable as when you’re afraid and wa

It’s only a tendency towards violence, only an orientation in the dirt that cracks in midday heat and in midwinter cold. It’s only a dependence on the sleeping pills I gulped for months on end, until I realized they don’t work, never worked, maybe never will. It’s a propensity for violence, a need to whisper my name into your shoulder blades to make them my own.

Yes, though I may have political immunity and spider blood doses indeed (it's a nice word, very official sounding) run through my veins, i am like you. my parents tell me i'm special but i know better.

I can't be alone anymore and it scares me more than dying, and it scares me more that living too. Don't leave me. To write this now seems anticlimactic. You know all my deeds and how the actions stack up to my unworthy promises. I am a liar, yes, ever wondering how Peter managed never to grow up or grow old, ever wondering how much he would hate the thing that a man worthy of admiration has turned into             (9-5 and a cubicle job that pays more than 75k a year). Escapism is an art so much more noble than games of waves of currents and underground motions, the ways people move in lines behind each other downtown. It's more than drinki

But listen, there's really no response I can give you that can make it all seem even slightly better in perspective. So, instead i'll sit here quietly and watch the clouds pass by and the smoke blow away hoping you'll accept my apology, won't take the blame, and instead, understand this is goodbye. Cause there's no way I can make a wrong right much like there's no way to reverse the flow of blood or go back in time                                                            to before the fall, to when things were good, to when things were rose tinged through our shades: pink, happy, incarnadine. (no, I don't wish I'd never met you) His nam

I am the wind only when it blows through the crevices of buildings and the holes in your hat. Free me from those holes because I need you to know that I love and need you, that I’m not okay, as much as I hate you and push you away as much as I want you there as much as much as much as much as much as much as I can use you to fill a gaping hole the hurricanes left in my chest. I need you to know it’s there. Don’t get sick again darling, why must you scare me so? The times I say I love you shouldn't make me cry, but they do, They do, they do, they do. I am the wind when I am the sky, the rain, the snow, the shards of glass i