Gag gag and gargle
Draggin’ through the muck of
That place you said you’d never go back to
Screamin’ like a devil in the dark

The bump and grind of his *****
Bump and grind
Got you buckin’ backwards like a
Bulldog
But we both know you should’a’ never brought a dog
To a gun fight

Too late for tears darlin’
Bite lipped quivers never saved a soul
Can hear the fear in the breaks for sobs

The door to his apartment never beckoned
But you broke down the doors
Like you had something to prove
Bent you bilaterally like
The corner you backed yourself into

So perfect in your symmetry
Till you left me for him
Now you got the heart-sag
Jaw dropped
Dope fiend look

Tearing up at the sky
And the flowers
White powder pluggin up your nose holes
Can’t smell the **** on your knees now
Or the muck you got stuck in

You said I wasn’t as fun as he was
As he is
I never wanted to save you anyway
I just thought it was beautiful
The way you praised me for the things I say
And the way I say ‘em

Ya know
I got blasted backwards
By the backlash of you leaving
Kicked up so much dust in the rubble
And left me dizzy with the rumble
Of your feet fleeing the song of some ***** stomp
Headin’
Farther and farther away from safety

At least I was safe
I wasn’t bitter
Even my bite was gentle
Kind enough to remind you I still got teeth
But I won’t use ‘em

So before you leave me
Again
Take the burden
The baggage
The weight of my shoulders
The wait for the phone call sayin’ you finally
****** up and died on me
The mix tapes
The t-shirts
The memories of every moment my heart kept sayin’
“She won’t stay
But hold her for as long as she’ll let you”

Take it all
And go

Only some things make sense.
Like full stops. No, they hardly make sense these days too.
The sun? No, not when you get down to it.
One tries not exaggerate,
but when the laws of physics
start to state
that the
only order is chaos
and that our Universe
for most of time
doesn't exist.
Or exists in different contexts
with different people
and different outcomes.
so either we exist in multiplicity
or not all.
One tends to exaggerate.
Why?

Saying nothing makes sense.
Sounds appropriate.
Sure.
We can function.
We know how to *******.
But that’s the thing,
We make sense through lacking

This is it
Entropy
The natural turn to chaos.
Makes sense,
When you try to hold the handle
It breaks,
And you’re stuck
Entropy.

When you
Saw
Heared
Smelled
Touched
Tasted
Her for the first time
Entropy.

You – I? – were too far gone
Entropy.
You’ve fallen into chaos
Interesting...
As opposed to falling in love?
Makes sense.
Many would say it’s not at all like that.

Some of us are a little damaged.
Bruised. Scratched. Broken.
We  don’t squeak.
We don’t light up.
We don’t walk.
A little damaged.
Some you can only hear the damage
When you shake them.
Broken bits are flung around.
Others, you hear nothing at all.

Full stops.
They use to make sense.
Now they look like commas.
Or exclamation points. Bang.

but yes if i flung my punctuation out
the window it would
not make sense as we
wouldntfunctionintheslightest
without the whitespace.

Let’s bring back the Universe
The sun
The nothing
The everything
The full stops
The periods

I’ll end my cryptic harangue
And step back from my rant.
It was grand to know you
And I’m ecstatic to consider
This:

Maybe in one of all those other
Universes,
It made sense
Rather that
Than not
Existing
At all.

My words have gone walking again.
They got up and left,
slamming the door behind them.
I think it's been a long time coming and a slow spiral downwards;
lately I've been speaking in euphemisms and grandeur that only
I can make sense of
(maybe my jokes just stopped being funny to everyone around me).

My words have gone walking again.
They slipped out the open window,
caught a ride west and said,
"She'll be fine on her own. She always is."

Third times the charm,
my words have gone walking again.
They took off on a horse with no name
and hopped a train to Clarksville.
Alphabet soup has come to life,
but not with my choice in spoonerism.
My head's not quite in my hands,
but my shoulders are keeping it hinged.
Come back soon, my mouth feels empty
and my tongue has no flap nor tap left without you.

You were always better in theory.
The images I created for myself,
the moments I wished we were in.
The hypothetical has no abrupt ending,
you see.

Once upon a time,
I believed you were telling me about 12-string guitars.
On my bed,
about how it's easier to play them because the strings are so close together,
it's like you can hit all the right notes without even trying.
You tried to make me sing that night.
But then I realized I had that conversation with someone else,
in a different setting completely.
It changes our ending,
you see.
The bed sang it's own lonely song that night.

I can tell myself all the right stories,
weave my own intricately, beautifully detailed and intoxicated rhythms,
but that won't bring you here.
Oh no, lord no boy,
that won't bring you anywhere closer to me,
to here, to now, to us, to a "we".

When I say, do you feel me?
I'm not meaning in a literal sense.
Get your hands off of my mindset.