i wrote a poem in a bathroom stall
somewhere in a city
where i fell in love
between inked skin and
glasses of amber liquid.
a band i've never heard of was playing
in the basement and i was
wishing on prolonged goodbyes,
only to surrender to
technicolor street signs
and
broken nights of
what could have been.

gray and blue and black
make up the angles and cheekbones
of you.
you're a painting with a film of dust
and i'm an attic that welcomes rust
broken windows, ripped screens
nests that house the emptiness of centuries,
and dolls that no longer have the mechanics to blink.
i guess you could form the conclusion
that i am a heap of broken things
floating inside a dead room
and you are a picture in a frame
that lives in shadows
etched in the silver starlight
of regrettable shame.

my eyes are slow to waking
to the dust filled light that swims
around my head in a dizzying dance.
these are the few precious seconds of
morning consciousness
where you are unaware of your body
your mind
and the room with the empty walls.
these seconds are filled with nothing but oxygen
that fills the lungs but does not yet touch the
brain
does not yet signal your logical state to
shake off the silken cobwebs of sleep.
but when those moments melt away like
sugar on your tongue
you are once again
the victim of
antagonizing reality.

the scent of soggy cigarettes
fills my nostrils
and my stomach swirls in a queasy
tempest.
this is alien territory.
i built my bones around your organs,
always there to protect
your sensitive heart...
but my bones were malnourished
and they yellowed
over time,
until i could feel the decay
and knew it was the season
for you and i to learn different roles.
for you, you had to be your own anchor
and for me,
i needed to find relief
i needed to be free,
give my bones some exercise.
although, with your beating blood gone,
i feel empty inside,
absent are the things i've always known
but now there are horizons and trees
and birds and suns to hang in the sky,
with my bare
hands
all on my own,
a journey that is waiting
for my footprints.

a ****** is quick
a heartbreak is a slow
death
that leaves your blood trailing
upon the walls in every room
and ghosts dance around your eyes
memories that haunt every corner
where our hands touched
and we laughed
a sound like pure crystal
that was lost in the echos
when our hearts
turned cold.

the clouds they hung
tightly against my heart
a rainstorm of goodbyes

i think theres a garden somewhere
and it's untouched
and everything just grows and blooms
in the sunlight.
life flourishes in every crack of stone,
every shadowed corner,
and i think that
i would like
to go there.