It’s a trigger, I think.

I’ve had a talk like that one
a million times
in three voices, two men, one woman,
in my many nightmares,
in my day to day living,
I’ve heard that one too many times.

A swirling tunnel,
a downcast drain, flushing
twisting impressions
of time and space, corrupted
in their voices
in my ears
and I think, surely,
that had to be a trigger.

Crinkling, sizzling
grey, listful energy
always
waiting for the collapse,
perhaps it can hear the discordance
in your voice
when you tell me
it's over.

If you lied
and he lied
and everyone's lying
then what am I doing here
listening to everything
when I could be damaging my ear hairs
another way?

Loosened tie,
loosened dirt,
one's gonna **** you
one's gonna hurt,
what's it gonna be boy,
when everything's turned,
suffocated misery
or the underground resort?

Ive done alot of thinking on my own
been looking for a way to turn it off
this is where I tell you things have been hard
this is where I just brush it off
this is where I smile and throw you off
and like always this is when I see
I pulled it off
and we're back to how you are
how things for you went wrong

I don't want your eyes on me
Sometimes I wish someone could see
I don't want your eyes on me
sometimes wishing I could just leave
keeps me going

did you look into my eyes
and see when i needed it
laid out on the table
because i understood what you meant when you said
"you kept your head in the oven"
and when i played that song
i understood what she meant
until i found out what she was saying

Pull the sheets up;
Let's hide under them.

No one can find us here.
Sure, no one is looking, either.
But I want to be with you, no distractions.

Take my hand in yours,
Can you hear my heart racing?

Can you tell my soul is aching?
I want to let it go.
I wanted to let you know,
Because I'd never let it show.

Would you stay with me, after the fact?
Could I share with you the truths of my past?
I don't want what we have to be ruined by that.
I don't want what we have to be ruined by anything.

Is it better I keep my secrets hidden,
That I keep inside where I hurt?
Or do you wish to lick my wounds.

Can I be myself with you,
Or only a percentage..

Parts of him,
Everything
Was broken into parts
Of him.

I was told the story
Of when his boy lungs
Couldn't hold another gasp,
And his father found him
Five
Or was it ten? Minutes later
And they had to bring
A dead boy back to life.

They were told a story
Of how his mother drank
A bit too much, often
But they musn't, he musn't
Speak another word of it,
There are parts of stories left untold.

There are parts of him
So many parts
But never enough parts
To make a man whole.

Disgusting,
tongue stuck out,
nose closed;
she always hated it,
and no matter what
we’d press and press,
forcing her to stomach
things she never wanted,
smelling that sourness,
those vinegar troubles
and tangy juice
covered in coercion;
we’d ask her time and time again
and never once did we respect her wishes.

Why must I consume?
is it not enough to exist,
is that not enough consumption?
How greedy it is
to expect me to take
more than I desire,
to force me to eat another
out of house and home.
That’s kind,
so very kind,
a sickly kind,
the sort of “kindness”
that destroys marriages,
uproots families and destroys psyches.
I’m not like that,
I don’t want to be controlled.

But we kept on shoveling
these aged, old traditions,
those nasty pickled ideas,
those greedy, grubby hands
of control over her,
and she could never let herself forgive.

I saw your name
again
in an old file
and I was told to dispose of it.

I couldn't help but feel so empowered
and yet oh so very vulnerable;
I'm a soft clam inside a hard shell,
but every time I think of this past you,
you've already pried me open and prodded
at my fleshy underbelly,
my most private spaces.

I was given the control
to take away another memory of you
from a place, we used to inhabit
together
and as much as I should've enjoyed that,
it only made me sad.