I got instincts like you would not believe, my flight or fight response could burn bridges on the moon-
thick vacuum spacesoup, no match for this fear
nah I’m fucking with you, have a low threshold for trust
I believe in you even if your divinity is serpentine, bed with teeth, caged horizons like you wanna keep me here
don’t do bars though
that song is too difficult to articulate.
racetrack neurons distractions the
cardboard shield against
canvas, the void
peeled back and
sobriety the loudest silence.
no cliff, no sky.
waiting and bright
I would sing you to sleep through
centuries of dusks
easy happy, soft heart of
the infinite now
I see you, I see you, I see you
stages of the moon, familiar
I yanked this poem out by the roots for you
harvested that garden of cranial
spaghetti sauce, crusted
wrenched visibility from mudstains
I stole from the storm to give to the eye,
wanted to paint your chaos unimaginably long-skinned and
the risk is proportionate to the view, always
this altitude a glory and a danger
I should be thanking you for.
Make a new friend. Only friend in my neighborhood, essentially. Now he’s telling me we can’t hang out because he’s in love with me. Ugh. Not even flattering I’m just so so so sad because I thought it was the real thing.
You SHOULD love your friends.
He said he always looks for love in the wrong places. I told him “you weren’t looking for love in the wrong place. Sex isn’t that.”
cavernously lonely, universe upon universe of
empty. How terrifying it must have been when I found you.
Tell me to go away and I will I will I will>> you have my
you have my phone number. I’m a quarter turn of an atom away
close as the breath
on your tongue.
8 years of working in nursing homes.
I know what the human wants. To be
behind the shell of bodies
gardens within gardens
I would walk that maze with
make friends with all your dark
afternoon tea with your demons
I would stare your past right in the face.
I was sitting in the ruins thinking how the fuck could i have let this happen again
But I couldn’t live in that house anymore. The staircases and the food in the fridge, both rotting.
I kept putting it off. Didn’t want to dismantle. Didn’t want a fire. Didn’t want to clean out the basement or walk in the attic.
But. All that rotting wood. The core was bad the foundation built out of inferior materials.
I still tried to live there. Decorated the walls all nice and ignored the flaws (that BASEMENT I swur.)
Rotting wood does catch fire. Despite everything. I want to get to the point where I’m not ashamed of that, but grateful.
Good luck with this
I was stacking my funeral pyre for the past six years. It was beautiful. Looked like a home. There were candles in the Windows drawing others to peer in and they got some warmth despite the low dosage. Felt safe.
Very few people could handle me being set on fire, and somehow being still alive. My house/body/shell. I don’t regret burning up.. letting myself purify in the conflagration. I do regret trying to yank you in with me. You’re telling me about the bruises i left and all I remember is that I really really wanted to dance with you.
Fuck though. I should have just sat in the fire and let it do it’s work on me. Don’t set someone on fire. They’ll ask you for a light if they got cigarettes.
I’m so grateful you’re still here. I tried to set you on fire and you’re still here.
Waiting for me to become something you aren’t scared of. Waiting for me to have candles in my windows.
Am I still flammable. Nothing left to flame I guess. It all burned up.
I don’t know if I’m capable of building a house of metal. Would be safer.
I could still leave the door open… it’s not like it has to be armor.
I don’t know.
I’m breaking in all sneaky
gonna steal the one thing that’s holding you back
not sure if that’s fair
I should probably knock or send you a letter
All you have to do is ask.
-baseline (I think) me.