on the tired sounds of stars
and how tired all
the people are. some nights
our dark box feels like a pond
of cement. i hope these nights
aren’t like those nights
for a while. i miss water under
the tired sounds of stars.
i don’t know if there are
still nights left. on the tired sounds
of beer bottles and stars.
they shimmer in the dark box
saying something
my dad used to say.
Acid Trip Experiment
where to go from here
her eyes widened into gunshots
behind her stars hung around
far away from each other.
those pits were empty
as craters buried in the moon
in her mouth where
words once were was
a slippery cliff
into a cliff.
when you’re emotionally unstable and alone, there is no greater antagonist than a dulled edge.
i’ll love you forever
“and ever”.
a hand falls from somewhere
on the bed like
a hand against the window
stealing the gold from
the street light shine
against the drapes
i’m
never here. we tumble downwards
and kiss like two strangers
discovering strangers
i see stars in the sky
you feel inside my pockets
they’re filled with meteors
as i fall
the world falls. as i drink
everything gets
a little golden for a while
and glass goes up between us.
i will not put chemicals into my brain
hoping to find some shortcircuit
to the soul.
the soul like every word
pounds in a fist upon our hearts, then opens
into broken knuckles, into a basin
hoping first only
to be filled.
i will not write any great poetry on 2ce tonight. But i will start writing poetry. Again. If You’re still tuned in (i mean apart from those of You who are fucking me) then i got the message, i need to read more, i need to write more.
:c