Maybe that’s what I want.
Maybe that’s what I’m looking for.
Someone other than myself who can look at me and say ‘okay’.
Someone as self-destructive as me.
Someone I don’t need to mind myself around.
Someone who can lie next to me in the grass for who cares how long and stare upwards at the trees, seeing them dance in the wind.
Someone as self-destructive as me.
Someone to stay up late with, not having to worry about the sun.
Someone that cares about more than the immediate. Somebody that cares about now.
Maybe that’s what I’m looking for.
Black and white.
Her eyes could carve marble,
her skin could bleach white,
the passion is too much
to handle tonight.
When you’re here,
you do a lot of waiting.
You crane your neck.
You look at the door, hoping it opens.
Glance out the window.
If you wait somewhere in the metaphorical sense long enough, it starts to turn literal.
It starts to rear it’s ugly head and bare it’s teeth.
And you can’t help but stare right down it’s throat.
I think I might be at the top of a spiral, inching closer to the lip.
Lying flat on my stomach and peeking over the edge.
Standing on the outside of the railing, holding on and leaning out.
I don’t know what it looks like at the bottom, but I don’t think I’m scared of heights anymore
I want something more,
I want a new door,
I just want a hug,
Not ‘tired’ or ‘shrug’.
Eyelids heavy,
Dizzy, steady.
Ashes, lighter,
Flashes, tighter.
There’s nothing like an ice cold ____ on a warm spring ____ surrounded by your closest ____.
Right now, I could empty my bank account. Leave the money in an envelope on the coffee table.
Turn off all the lights. Leave a note that says ‘feed the cat and pet her’.
Take apart my computer and break it into pieces. Burn all of my notebooks.
I could paint the walls back to white.
I could change the burnt out light above the stove.
Right now, I could wash all of the dishes and put them away neatly in the cupboards.
Turn off my phone. Leave it in my desk.
Leave a message on the answering machine at work.
Take a few pairs of clothes, a pair of shoes, my bag of cigarettes and my lighter.
Put my jacket on.
Right now, I could walk out the front door and lock it. Drop the keys down the elevator shaft.
Leave.
Go to New York.
Or Toronto.
Somewhere nobody needs to know me.
Where I’m just some guy.
Right now, I could make amends.
Right now, I could do that.
Somewhere is mountains you can climb forever.
Somewhere is trees in a forest that doesn’t end.
It’s water that stands still.
Somewhere is empty glass buildings.
Snow that can’t melt.
Somewhere is a sense of satisfaction,
a feeling of accomplishment.
Somewhere is reaching out and grabbing it when it’s right inside you.
It’s in the air and it’s so tangible that you choke on it.
Somewhere is holding your breath and never dying.
Somewhere is orgasms in your sleep and dreaming while you’re awake.
Late at night, when the wind is walking by, I can hear it talking to me.
It’s telling me that somewhere, far away, something is happening.
Something worth seeing,
or doing,
or being.
But it doesn’t tell me where.
Just somewhere.
Somewhere that isn’t here.
Just somewhere.
I find it hard to breath right now.
Water doesn’t flow.
Head space is invisible.
I can’t look inward, only outward.
And I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing what I’m doing.
There’s a head shaped hole
where your head used to be.
And you’re sitting in the dust
of everything you’ve earned.
Words spill out of you
as if you’re made of rock.
And there is no lesson,
no lesson,
you’ve learned.
There’s plenty out there, but I don’t care about the sea because I’m scared of drowning.
