excruciating paralysis,
thickening calluses forming from the cigarette burns that I say I don’t feel.
It’ll heal.
When it comes down to it, you’re a steal,
locked up in stainless steel
because only the most enigmatic blatantly refuse to feel.
I’d rather learn that the imaginary speed limits you’re abiding
as I’m riding
are just your excuse for hiding,
writing our stories in a book
for someone else to take a look;
I’ll hook them with the line, “our love was one of those that should only be written on handmade paper.”
See you later.
I know.
No...
yes, I know, there’s no snow in San Diego.
It’s a desert.
You’ll desert me while I’m sitting with my cookies, wrapped up in your jacket, holding on until
holding on until
holding on until
holding
on
until I find a faith in something a little bit bigger than the love you parachuted down to kiss me with last night.
I want to be tomorrow’s first cigarette, and the next day, and a couple thousand days after that until we’ve sat in a salon and talked about the necessity of call boxes.
All boxes just there to hold things
we burn and burn until the fire is bigger than the ice and it all evaporates into embers of what it could have been if it had ever even gotten the chance to soar
I’m on the floor
pacing
my pulse is racing
and it’s strange because I feel like dancing,
romancing,
because you’re entrancing,
like driving the wrong way down a one-way street,
an empty alley with too many police cars to make this at all representational of her existential behaviors towards those people who are
too disgusting to not kiss.
Hit or miss.
Miss?
Miss?
Yes, I wanted to let you know that the lights are a little bit brighter when they’re reflected from your eyes.
How did they get so goddamn blue?
You stole the skies.
Sighs, sizing me up and down,
waiting for that effervescent frown
that can illicit more out of a whole lonely town
than one of my smiles
could for miles.
Parking in the no park zone,
trying too hard to hit all the caution cones,
waiting for you to answer the phone,
coming home.
You’re home?
You are home.
Such an awkward sensation to feel alone.
But I locked the car
and I have to walk pretty far
to see or find where you are.
Shit.
Fuck.
I’m stuck.
I forgot my key without a doubt,
so locked out.
I have no idea how to be
me
with all the lights on
It’s too bright, these songs.
I’m turning it off to start all over.
Pull off the covers and find another lover.
It’s difficult when you only believe in believing just to give yourself a reason to stand up.
Yup.
I wanna hold you in my mouth for the next three months and see if you grow into something edible, or credible.
There are very few people who can leave me without a thing to say.
But you’ve hooked me that way.
And that’s not to say that I wouldn’t love
love
to spend forever trying to find the words big enough for you and me to be heard
Let’s lose a generation in grand central station
and find it in the middle of your bed
standing on my head trying to clear the wet clothes smell
pungent enough for me to tell
or sell
really, sell anything just to get by.
Just to keep on living this little lie.
Too intimate for me to ever say goodbye.
Happy today, sweetheart.
I’ll tell you it tomorrow too.
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