Tag: poetry

4:31 pm

Neil: i don’t know how to make this feeling go away.
this heaviness. this emptiness.
i  feel this urge to run.
to run and run and run.
but i need to know how to make this feeling disappear.
i need to know that my veins are more
than the blue of interstate lines of maps,
that my bones can feel more than the jolt of pavement
each time my feet hit the ground.
i need my neck to stop the ache of turning,
of checking and checking.
i need to let my hands feel something else,
something besides the cold barrel of a gun.
i want to lose my breath,
not because i was shot or stabbed or scared,
but because i wanted to.
because i got lost in the moment of tangled hair
and hands, and my limbs got heavy
and my eyes were full of you.
(MESSAGE DELETED)

Bad day. Roof?
(MESSAGE SENT)

4:35 pm

Andrew: today i looked in the mirror.
i saw something that looked a little bit
like falling and my throat constricted.
i saw something that made my chest heavy,
made my body shiver.
it was a feeling i have heard of
but have no experience with.
it is the type of feeling
to start wars, to burn cities, to die for.
they always say you cannot recover from this.
i got scared.
because this type of feeling is something new,
something other than sitting on the edge of the world,
something other than the burn of smoked out lungs.
this feeling is rolling over on cold sheets,
only to find them empty.
it is driving for hours without an extra hand
on the center console.
there is no coming back from that.
(MESSAGE DELETED)

be there in 10
(MESSAGE SENT)

4:37 pm

Neil: sometimes it really feels like the world
has raged war on my life,
that all it has done is taken and taken.
i thought i had nothing left to give them.
but i know now that isn’t true
because the smoke longer smells of her.
it is rooftops and traded secrets,
long nights spent tracing skin over thin, fragile bones.
i thought i had nothing left to give
but if they take you,
i know i won’t have the will survive.
(MESSAGE DELETED)

bring a lighter. mine is out.
(MESSAGE SENT)

4:40 pm

Andrew: the world has taken and taken,
everything i could’ve had, i never got.
i fought day after day to keep what i could.
i fought until i had nothing left to give.
but now i am taking back
and i keep looking over my shoulder,
waiting for them to come and take you back.
i’ll fight harder next time though,
because what i have is worth it.
(MESSAGE DELETED)

okay i will
(MESSAGE SENT)

“We Have So Much To Say, But No Courage To Send It.” 
(via palstate-foxes)

Cigarettes and knives, knives and cigarettes
Watch the gasoline light and see how high it gets
Walk in the flames, it doesn’t burn anymore
Memories are the real pain, the burn from before
Now there’s fire in your eyes, blazing bright!
But it’s quick to die, the withering light
Your hopes, your dreams, they float away
The smoke, the smoke’s here to stay
You’re choking, choking
You’re soaking in blood
Is it your own?
Who knows, but who has time to care?
When the real villain here is quite clear
It’s the mirror, the mirror, break it, destroy it!
Stab it, rip it! You’re an old toy
Your owner got grown and now you’re alone
Alone? Yes alone, there is nobody here
Nobody in the mirror besides the smoke and the fear
But then you grow up, quicker than you should
You stamp out the fear and cut down the wood
Light it on fire, quick, watch it burn!
The field of your emotions is nothing but fern
That’s soon to die, to die, to die
Now you stand up high, try to feel
It cannot be him, this is not real
His hair’s of fire, his eyes of ice
Every word he says, they’re all lies
Can you trust him? No you can’t!
But you have to, don’t you?
So you play a game, a game of wits
Truth for truth, coming in bits
Sort through the pieces and fit them together
Build them up and protect them
You’ve worked too hard to let this burn
So you give him a key, a home, a kiss
Just something simple, something you won’t miss
But this is all wrong, something is mistaken
It was just a risk you’ve taken
But look what’s happened
You’re not up high, you’re feeling again
And you’re not sure why
But maybe you are, it’s this boy and his lies
The way he looks at you without despise
This is all wrong! Look in the mirror!
There’s nothing but a monster, stripped of fear
But there’s something behind it, something you feel
Something that feels just too real.
Burn it! Rip it! Slash it! Kill it!
You pick up a knife and you simply stare
You look in the mirror and you do not dare
It’s there, it’s there! The light in your eyes!
But you cannot, simply cannot
So put down the knife, say a percent,
It will take a while to know what this meant
Cigarettes and knives, knives and cigarettes
You’re not quite sure what this means yet
So you watch the smoke blow from your lips
Drop the cigarette, another percent slips
But you’re not alone, you’re not alone
You’ve found the truth, and this is home.

cigarettes and knives, knives and cigarettes | s.w. (via celestialmoreau)

i. I absolutely cannot stand the snares of your hands,
or how I catch myself on your barbed wire mouth,
when I choke on your gasoline voice,
or cut myself on your switchblade fingers.
I loathe these weapons of yours more than I loathe the actual tangible knifes you keep hidden under your sleeves.
I hate that somebody did something so awful to you that you were forced to wear hatred as a second skin.
I hate myself more that I wasn’t there to shield you from it.

ii. I wonder how different our lives would be if we had been switched.
Me: Andrew.
You: Aaron.
Me: Given up on.
You: Kept.
Would everything turn out the same? Would we have led completely different lives? Would we be broken again? Made whole?
(Would she have hit you, too?)
(Would he have used me, too?)

iii. I hear the way people talk about you when you’re not there.
Like you’re this awful thing.
Like they’ve taken a bite out of you and realized you’ve gone bad in the middle.
When they speak, they’re trying to get the taste of you out of their mouths,
Spitting and spitting until there’s nothing left to expel.
Sometimes I want to say something.
Sometimes I want to argue.
But we come from the same batch, after all.
How can I argue when I taste just as bad as you do?

iv. I went to the Circle K around the corner one night and bought myself a pack of cigarettes: the same brand you use.
I stood outside and popped one in my mouth,
lit it with unpracticed hands.
I had seen you do this so often,
I thought maybe it would come almost naturally, like I had been the one catching fire to things all these years instead of you.
But the weight of it felt so wrong between my fingers,
the motions unfitting for me,
the taste acidic and raw and awful.
It reminded me too much of him—of that stray dog that follows you around all day—and less like you,
less like home.
I’m trying to understand this. I’m trying to be okay with you-and-him.
But there are some things that people shouldn’t get in the way of. This was one of them.
The box cost $7.89 and screamed your name. I didn’t even hesitate when I threw it away.

v. Every once and a while I’ll dream about that night.
Sometimes it’s me instead of you, or I can’t move at all and I’m forced to watch, or I beat him over and over but he keeps getting back up.
Either way, the entire time you’re just laughing.
Like I told a joke and you think it’s the funniest thing in the world.
I’m beating him to death and sloshing his blood around and you’re laughing like you’re at a comedy show.
Whenever I wake up from those dreams, I never want to sleep ever again.

vi. I never understand our fights.
Normal people throw around words they don’t mean and slam doors they would usually leave ajar.
But us?
We fight like our lives are on the line.
We fight like it’s a race and there’s only one winner.
You leave me aching and I leave you waterlogged.
We become such ferocious animals, all sharp teeth and heavy claws, ripping and tearing without a care to give.
The entire world comes to a stop when we have even the slightest disagreement,
a spotlight shining down to showcase our own personal brand of hate.
I sometimes wonder if that’s us making up for lost time.
All those years we never got to spend fighting like brothers.
Maybe we’re finally making up for that.
Maybe we’re trying to meet our quota before our time is up.
Before we can’t fight anymore.

vii. One time when you weren’t looking, I stole one of your pills.
I saved it for when you wouldn’t be around and swallowed it dry, felt it run down my throat.
I thought that if they made you smile all the time, maybe they’d make me smile, too.
But all I felt was this hallow ache in my chest,
like something bad had grabbed hold of me from the inside.
I was used to flying high, higher than most people would dream to go,
But this was just wrong on so many levels.
It lasted only four hours before I started to wind down, but that was one of the longest four hours of my life.
I wasn’t happy. But I smiled anyway. I couldn’t stop. My cheeks hurt after.
I think I understood you a little better after that day.

viii. I voted to name your cat Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. And I’m not even sorry.

ix. (I’m sorry.)

x. I love you.

Ten Things Aaron Wants To Tell Andrew (But Never Will)

poemsforpersephone:

SEVEN STEPS TO FALLING IN LOVE // l.s.

step 1. you don’t quite remember how it feels to feel but theres an echo in your chest that you think might be curiosity. or maybe its just heartburn.

step 2. theres something different about the way that he moves, like the earth is a chessboard and every step is a potential loss, another way to be taken from the game.

step 3. you promise protection because it is all you can offer. what else could he want? your fingers were only made to hurt and tear and bruise. you hold violence the same way others hold hands.

step 4. the first time you see him without medication twisting your brain you think ‘this could be a problem.’ you try to ignore that it already is, that is has been for a while now.

step 5. he vanishes into the night and with him he takes your ability to breathe, leaving a gap in the universe, a vacuum sucking the air from your lungs and for the first time in forever you feel fear.

step 6. every bruise on his body is another reason to walk away but you passed the point where you could leave long ago. now your hands try to learn how to hold and to stroke, how to soothe burns and bruises. They re-learn how to be hands instead of just another weapon to wield against life.

step 7. you told yourself that love was a lie because there was no other way to survive your demons. you put everything you had left behind a door made of sulphur and steel, but this boy, who saw more than the monster they created, who would fight the sun if you’d let him, opened your heart by knocking instead of forcing the lock.

(and so you gave him a key)

i have never minded the quiet.
it is such a comforting, relaxing thing.
rarely do i drown in it,
but for him, it was always another matter.
i have learned that to him, the quiet is an ocean.
it is vast and reckless and unknowable,
much like he is.
i have only come to realize how he gasps for air, struggles to swim, to stay afloat in the waves of his own being.
little else do i know of him.
how much has he seen?
how much has he felt?
how long has he been trying not to drown?
little do i truly know, and i fear that much like his ocean, he will continue to remain unexplored.
i fear that he will be crushed by the waves, forever lost, forever drowning, with the only sound being the echo of the silence, and the rawness of his thoughts.
i hope he will not be consumed by his waters.
i hope he stays afloat.
i hope that one day, he may learn how to swim.
may he embrace the ocean, and no longer fear it.

may he learn to accept himself. // a look inside neil josten’s journal pt.2 // d.c
(via cedricdiggoury)

poemsforpersephone:

there is a difference
between wanting nothing
and not wanting anything.

the first is a longing
for the kind of absolution only
death can buy / a desperation for
the end because the in-between is
cruel and you are so tired.

you live your life
around nothing, until ‘nothing’
becomes a boy with a jigsaw past and an
attitude problem / until ‘nothing’ becomes
palms pressed to the back of shivering
necks / until it becomes yes or no and always
and stay and a key traced into skin.

‘nothing’ ceases to be an abyss, forgets
how to be void / ‘nothing’ keeps you warm
at night, ‘nothing’ holds you steady,
‘nothing’ trusts you, ‘nothing’ begins to love you.

nothing becomes many things.
and for once?
you want everything.

l.s. | NOTHING HOLDS YOU STEADY (LIKE HE DOES) © 2016