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bubble boy, an insignificant cell on a strangers body. a nobody, with no purpose, but i’ll still find a way to draw parallels to who looks better with their shirt off. now it feels like the world is spinning too quickly and sometimes i just can’t fucking believe that i’m here right now. please, i’m begging you to compare me to someone else. spit in my mouth, then on my chest. let me taste you so when you’re gone i’ll know exactly what i’m missing. it’s 1am and i want to be a part of you in ways you’ll only bring up when you talk shit on me years later. until then i’ll kiss your stretch marks, and you’ll run your fingers across old scars, and together we’ll repeat 'i love you' until the mirror breaks.
the root of my problems doesn’t have a root at all. it isn’t a string or trail of breadcrumbs i can follow back to a single moment. it isn’t a suppressed thought. it’s the voice that convinces me my thoughts were worth suppressing in the first place.
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2. |
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last night i walked through a field that used to scare me more than i scared myself and thought of the last time that i felt hopeless. sixteen, in my father's car, wondering how an artificial light could make me feel so empty. and if it looked as dull pouring from street lights as it did shining from my tiny arms on days when the world was too loud and my voice was too small. i wish i had known you then, about your mind and how it perfectly mimics my own. or how good it felt to lie in this field knowing it was never death that interested me, it was the idea of an opportunity to follow a cold breeze that promised to take me anywhere but here. and you thanked me for curing you. for saving your life when you thought nobody could, and reminding you that people are worth loving, and worth holding onto. but i'm left with a knot in my chest asking why this feels so much like leaving and letting go.
treat me like a stained mattress. rest your body on my body. let me feel the weight of your existence so i know what purpose feels like, and i'll lie patiently waiting for a kiss. three seconds to prove to you that the biggest mistake in your life was jumping before the building collapsed.
i'm sorry you thought this couldn't work, because i've never wanted anything more in my entire life than to prove that it could.
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3. |
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i'll sit and pretend i know someone at an intimate depth. it only makes me feel like shit in the end because you're only as good as the people you consider your friends. so watch an aching past surface, and how i'm half certain that everyone who associates with me's a bad person. because everyone who associates with me is as worthless. now i finally understand what it means to lack courage. because at the end of the day it just defeats the damn purpose to share the fruit of your knowledge while completely malnourished.
so i've been trying to let go of the things that torture me inside. congratulations, you're cordially invited to a small list of things that i normally would hide like:
high school, no comprehension of enough harm. codeine for numb hearts and patching up cut arms. but drinking cough syrup when you didn't have a cough is ironic because in reality you're sicker than you thought. but like hearing new music and being too scared to turn it up, virgin blood mostly told me to stop at the surface cuts. and sometimes i wouldn't eat more than a couple bites. and sometimes i'd go a week and not sleep more than a couple nights. and sometimes i'd get so wrapped up in the couple life when the couple life failed me the first couple times.
but i am grateful that it seems stupid, and i'm grateful that i miss you, because the last two years are something i'm glad i had to sit through. because now that i know what it means to be dead i can start living again. yeah now that i know what it means to be dead, i can start living. i can smell it when i breathe. i can feel it when you leave. i can start living.
so i'm leaving behind the people who said i wasn't brave enough. i wrote an album called sleep and realized it's about waking up.
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4. |
you said okay
03:28
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it all started with closed eyes, and a feeling in my gut telling me i need to keep them shut the whole time. because if they opened even for a second and i saw your lips they'd suck me in like black holes when they bend light. and it was then i realized that you were not my world, you were my universe. sometimes when i look up i see stars that cut through the sky and fade quickly into nothingness and i pray that you aren't as fleeting, because when we're lying in roads i get the same feeling. that gravity will just turn off and i'll fall endlessly into something much larger than i am, and i wonder if that's what it feels like to die and if i'll ever understand god in my lifespan. because i want to see god. i want to know what god feels like.
but with the weight of the bible i will break adam's ribs and repeat, "my dear eve, you do not take after this."
you were not made in a man's image. but if that's the case, why do you feel so lost in the empty space that his hand isn't. why do i wait wondering how long it'll take you to admit it. i'd rather keep my mouth shut than start to say what i can't finish. baby i have limits. i have limits.
i'm singing 'la la la' in empty rooms that carry sounds like hollow caves. 'la la la' just to prove you're not the only one that can occupy a borrowed space. 'la la la' for every ship that was set to sail but got washed away. i'm singing 'la la la' in desperate hopes that when it bounces back i hear the octave change. so if we could just pretend that your voice exists inside this empty void within then holy shit, holy shit, holy shit if you spoke insomnia might loosen it's wholesome grip on my throat. and i could begin to forgive you for admitting the hoax, instead of learning to hate you for every minute you don't. because i sit here wondering if anything you said was true, and who it was who taught you to speak bullets without considering the exit wound. tell me who.
because i still think back to the first time you called me with nothing to say. that morning you were more than just my friend and we both noticed something had changed. you drove to your parents house and we talked about everything. we talked about how much it sucked, but no matter what we had to remain nothing. and in that deafening silence, i asked if i could still call you my snowflake.
and you said, "okay."
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5. |
saturday dec 14 2013
03:38
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it’s been exactly one year since i wrote that first poem about you. i sat in bed and started thinking about what happened at sandy hook, and how fragile life is, and how much i wanted you in mine. when you read it you said you teared up and couldn’t believe whatever this was we found in each other. you called it indescribable. i lied in the same spot a year later with you beside me - emotionless. thinking about how i watched you change with every season. how spring turned into summer turned into autumn turned into winter. how the purity of something new became as hot as the persistent day as it rests too heavily on tired flowers. and how when that tiredness wins, they die like everything else.
i could feel my chest collapsing that night i sat in the stairway and read every word you had written to someone else while you were gone. how you teared up when you read the words he wrote to you. how you couldn’t believe what you found. you even called it indescribable. now i can’t stop thinking about what those words might have been and how they compare to mine. i can’t sleep because i need to know what you found and if it feels anything like what i lost. i’m sorry if i’m so stuck in this. it’s just before you came along i spent four years with someone who would watch me watch the world but couldn’t hold my hand and see what i saw. someone who loved me so much but couldn’t understand how a human soul could mimic the seasons, or how a person can be fine for so long but wake up one morning wanting to die all over again. so when that feeling rises over the mountains all i ask of the world is that they greet it differently than pagans when they worship the sun.
i am old soil mixed with the compulsion to describe what used to grow here, to describe the indescribable sensation of life in a dying field. as if remembering the smell of your blossoms is the only thing keeping me alive.
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