Flood

This one is kind of a weird version of a sonnet, istead of a rhyme scheme, I used antonym pairs it turned out a little weird but here it is:

 

Flood

 We sit criss-crossed on the finally dry

ground sifting through piled shoe boxes full
of warped photographs. My shirt is soaked
from your warm tears. My pockets are empty.
 
You are squinting at a slide, trying hard
to make out the chicken scratch numbers
smeared across the back. Your voice is so soft
I have to read your lips to know your words.

This is the room where I used to sleep

It’s become your closet without a light
We sit in it now, trying to stay awake
frantic hands reach at memories in the dark

You took them so that you would remember

Now the water will help you to forget.

Different

Different

In high school I

knew girls who cut
themselves for a release.
It was routine,
Cut your
wrists. Brush your
teeth. Go to
bed.
I do not
know any boys
who have cut themselves
to release anything
except enough blood.

death

death
after Jesus by Brand New

We stand on a corner where
all the cars drive too fast. And you’ve
got a bottle of whiskey. You take a pull and spit it out. Screaming “This tastes like
wood.” I laugh as i take a drag
and lean against one of those telephone poles that is covered in
nails from posters that the wind has ripped off and crucified on to car windshields

We sit at the corner all night. Fighting off the

sleep so that we might see an accident. A death if we’re lucky.
Inside we know it’s wrong. As we sit with fingers crossed. The sounds
of sirens echoing in our minds. We just want to know death.
This way we are prepared. So we will know when to unplug the
machine.

Back

Back

 

From the backseat of a ‘91 Carolla

I told you “No.”
Hoping that you or the car
would explode. But you just turned your eyes
to your shoes. Which meant
your trips down south must have been
worth it. Where you didn’t shower
for three months and you slept in tents
on the cold, hard ground. The ground
will break you. You can find God on that
ground and you did.
You came back with a dry
mouth and a clear throat.
A coin and a prayer in your
wallet. I was surprised to see
your head shaved when we
picked you up. You hiding
behind a long sleeve shirt
in hot July. As if we could forget.
When you got in the car you
put on that song and I
told you “No”
But you did not explode.

bloody nose

I shake awake to a blood smeared pillowcase

And the sound of drunk girls laughing on their way home from the bars

On a Friday night

Paralyzed from a dream

I was once trapped in

I am still trying to escape

I flip on a light switch

To the loud rumbling of the broken bathroom fan

I flinch and reach for some toilet paper

To shove up my nose

To ease the flow

And my mind

In the mirror

I see my father’s wrinkles around my eyes

And I shake because I am not a man yet

I am still living in a university owned apartment

Saturated with empty beer cans

And trash

And shit

And I could sink in a tub

Or a chair

Or a bottle

And tell myself I am fine

That it’s not me, it’s my mind

But I am not sure we know the difference

Without Fluoxetine

Disintegrating into dark red blood

Or light blue blood

I can never remember which color it is on the inside

But I know how it looks

Smeared on my upper lip

Or dripping off of frustrated knuckles

Or shot into my eyes

Because it’s been me and the mirror

The past few nights

Or maybe me vs. the mirror

And I am not quite sure

Who is winning. 

high school

In 2008 I would be sitting around a computer

With J and Brett

Just like I was every weekend

of my sophomore year

When I was losing all my friends

Because Paul smoked a lot of pot

And Matt found God after his second concussion

So we couldn’t say goddamnit around him

Or steal beer out of his parent’s fridge

And I heard Adam’s Song for the first time that year

And It was the first song that made me cry

In 2011 I would be sitting shotgun in a jeep

With J and Brett

Sitting without their seatbelts in the backseat

It was senior year

And we had made some new friends

It was Chris was driving the car

And Jon Deej and Dan were right behind us

And we could say goddamnit around them

And  get drunk in DJ’s basement

And we listened to Adam’s song on our way downtown

And it took everything I had not to cry

a sinking ship

a sinking ship

clouds of breath explode from cold conversations
and the words poured out between chattering teeth
trembling barricades
that allowed whispers to sound loud
echoing off of brick
icicles that hung
off the cheap plastic gutter
of a rundown apartment complex
while a girl stands with her back turned
because she couldn’t stand the sight
of the sad boy that was
(or wasn’t)
in front of her
ankles buried deep in snow
because they won’t plow the parking lots on Sundays at a Catholic university
the snow that was once white and stacked high
is now stomped down and brown
but the icicles hang innocent
untouched
and it looks like something out of a music video for some british folk song
that she would inevitably love
and that you would inevitably hate
your toes are numb, but you don’t mind, it suits your mood
and you can’t tell if its the cold or the nerves that are making you shake harder than high school
in the nurses office
when they showed the informational teenage suicide video
after a freshman shot himself with his father’s gun
your face is cold and snow is getting caught up in scraggly facial hair
that hasn’t been shaved in months
or touched in months
hanging defeated off of a defeated face
hairs she once ran Her hands through
and let tickle her neck
now the focal point of her disgust
and she’s crying and telling you how scared she is for you
and how scared your friends are
and how your mom doesn’t sleep at night
you light a cigarette and fall back onto the hood of a car and sink into the snow that covers it
let the smoke fight upwards against the current of the snow
and lose
the snow would always win
you find yourself thinking about the past month you’ve spent
locked in your room
with a handle of whiskey
and a guitar you can’t play
pretending to be Kurt Cobain
you could never get the ending right
and the apartment you called home
with the floor littered with crushed empty cans and turned over bottles
not a drop left in them to spill,
and the letters that you meant to send her
but you couldn’t afford stamps
those letters started out so strong
but nothing seemed that important anymore
not like it did over break
when all you needed was a 1.99 movie and the couch in her basement
and how even though it was cold, you weren’t
and how it hadn’t been that easy not to think in a while
no pills or doctors visits
you didn’t need that
her words snap you back to the present
“I can’t tie myself up to a sinking ship”
And you smile, because it was a nice metaphor
and she didn’t usually talk like that
but now you’re running towards her car and she’s fighting you off
and you’re grabbing her arm
and she pushes
hard enough to knock you on your ass
hard enough to open up your eyes
and for the first time in at least a month you are sober
and for the first time in at least a month you can see her eyes
and for the first time in at least a month you are scared
and you land in the snow where you sit and watch the flakes twirl across the sky and fall hard
 onto the ground
and onto you
until you're buried
a ship wrecked

Tired

I cruised through days
And things stayed the same
An uncomfortable summer
In a prosperous suburb
Paradise can go fuck itself

In the midst of my indifference
I was becoming quite complacent
In the bedroom in the basement
In a city they call Mason
Where they all forget your name

Suddenly I realized
That the world went on without me
And like a child I took it personally
But I was young
So everything felt like the end of the world

And I had wasted summer on a feeling
That left me bruised and scarred and bleeding
And I finnaly felt something
But it wasn't worth feeling
And it was hardly love

So I waited patiently for change
But nothing just happens
So I waited forever
Holding my breath and pinching my arms
Either hoping that it would hit me or hoping I'd wake up

Pine Hill #4

Pine Hill #4


I watched dust turn to mud before my eyes
And my conflicted mind was cleaned up by the rain
But my feet were still dirty
And stuck in the ground

The sun was out
But the rain still came in waves
the sky opened and closed
It couldn't make up its mind

So I sat and wondered
Why someone would carve "fuck" in a park bench
Or throw cans in a creek bed
Or hang a noose from a tree branch

And I got sucked dry by mosquitoes
And plagued with an itching
And I thought about leaving
But feet were still stuck

So I sat there forever
Because my feet were cemented
In the mud dried and cracked
Like my skin from a sunburn

Something Like A Dream

Something Like A Dream

I got turned around

On April 25^th

On a walk to no place

With my eyes half open

It was the day after a good day

And I floated unconscious

And in 24 hours

I had forgotten myself

This new found numbness

Was less cold than expected

And it felt like sleeping

But my legs were still moving

I don’t think I noticed

The swollen clouds moving

Or the pouring rain pouring

Or that my shoes were all wet

And I sat on a park bench

And I swear I saw Jesus

But it could have Buddha

And it could have been Elvis

And I asked him, “How is it?”

He said, “What have you done here?”

He said, “Where are the children?”

He said, “My minds not right”

And I walked to a classroom

But no one was teaching

And though the doctor was talking

No one was learning

So I asked her a question

I asked, “What do you do here”

But she just kept on talking

As if her words were scripture

And I went looking through windows

And I think I saw Nietzsche

He was in a straightjacket

He was praying Hail Marys 

And I needed a nap

Because my eyelids were heavy

And my legs, they were rubber

And my shoes were not dry

So I fell on a futon

In a room full of people

They were screaming and laughing

While I slept like a baby

When I woke I was older

And my hair was much longer

But I didn’t cut it

Because I couldn’t find scissors

And all of a sudden

I missed the ocean

I missed the mountains

I missed my brothers

And the numbness got colder

I guess it wasn’t numbness

And I guess it was over

So I guess I was cold

So I reached for jacket

Or a hat or some mittens

But I only found tank tops

And a copy of Dude Ranch

And at once it was sunny

And I was out at the campground

And I was walking toward Lauren
But she was looking beyond me

So I got in a paddleboat

But the waters were raging

I got knocked in the water

And I spilled my last beer

So I reached for the dock

But I just got a splinter

And I didn’t have tweezers

And I didn’t have patience.

I was swallowing water

I was reaching my hands out

And kicking and screaming

But they just let me drown

 I woke up in a safe place

Full of boxes of records

And it smelled like the 9^th grade

And it looked like Belle’s basement

And I saw Belle there crying

And I asked her, “What is it?”

She said that the doctors

Prescribed her the pills

And she was shivering  always

So I gave her my jacket

Leather sleeves but no letter

I never made the team

And I told her I loved her

But I had to be going

I had to keep chasing

My lost good vibration

And I passed by Bob Dylan

On my way to the outside

And I couldn’t make noises

But my moth was still moving

But he was holding a pistol

And a bottle of whiskey

And he said it was over

He said please don’t think twice

So I climbed to the rooftop

And I sat like an Indian

And I lit up a cigarette

And sang “Lost In The Flood”

And the sunlight was fleeting

So I stood like a soldier

And I thought of the evils

Clouds, Distance, War

And my fear overwhelmed me

So I stared down at the streetlights

And I screamed it like Andy

“I am fine. I am fine”

But I didn’t believe me

And I forgot I was crying

And I forgot I was breathing

And I forgot to keep trying

And I woke up In my basement

Which I swore was dorm room

When I first started sleeping

But I guess I was home

But the word home confused me

So I picked up my lighter

And set shit on fire

And  put none of it out

But this wasn’t a movie

And I was bound to go crazy

If I kept chasing something

That had never existed

So I fell out of love with

The girls I was loving

And I began to breathe heavy

And I kissed them goodnight

And I began a new life

On West Egg with Daisy

And I threw the big parties

And I died in a pool

And I thought I was Gatsby

And I thought I was a mystery

And I thought I was a martyr

But I had it all wrong

So I started it over

And I played the dark records

I played Elliot Smith

I played Iron and Wine

And the songs made me tired

And the songs made me anxious

And the songs made me feel cold

And the songs made me do it

And just before I hit pavement

I woke in a cold sweat

And I couldn’t remember

What I was writing this for.