one more

in that era,
when i was drinking a million miles per hour,
stop signs just never occured to me.

i stretched hours into days
that eventually became years.
i didn't have to flex.

i just needed to sit there,
at the bar, or
on a bed in any apartment i claimed to be home
and be perfect
with one more drink in my hand.

untitled

it’s just one long fucking song
that never seems to end,
and in between years
you can never remember the chorus.

it’s like you’ve been so entirely lost between the
notes
that the only beacons you recognize are constructed of liquid and smoke.

honestly,
it’s a chore just to remember this title
or that title in between the women
and the bottles,
it’s everything like being asleep.

christmas presense

one more christmas.
one more present received,
that i don't remember asking for.

i am only a stranger staring into a backdrop
comprised
of all of them.

and here i am,
under another roof,
with one more girl
i decided to live with.

she loves me
and i love her,
and i know that one day
we will compete to see
whose heart we can char the quickest.

inhalation

i miss smoking.
i miss feeling smoke enter and
leave my body like it's some stranger
you bring home after a bar.

i miss the comfort of being alone,
when i pretended i was the only ship
left at sea on that particular night.

i miss the noise that stranded streetlights and stoplights made
at 3 o'clock in the morning
where ever i had lived alone.

i wish i could exhale my sentiments
into the nothingness of a vacuum.

learned behaviour

we come from spunk,
those five minutes your daddy paid attention
to your mommy.

we live here
in the now,
just a collection of images
passing through one another on the street
like
it's only air,

a blur.

you go this way.
i'll go that way,
and maybe we'll meet up
one day
if we both slow down.

i'll light your cigarette.
we sit down where the curb meets
the street.

and by this time,
i swear to god,
one of us will have something to say
like grown ups,
just how we used to imagine.

the confusion of a gathering

i'm pretty sure i draw awesome birds,
but none of this matters right now.

what really matters is that everybody
drinks too much,
and at the same time not enough
at all.

i even saw my dad drunk this weekend,
more hammered than i can ever remember.
the sad thing,
or funny thing,
is that i was too drunk
to even remember.

then chris was kicked out
for flinging meatballs at the ceiling.
this made lauren cry.

i never witnessed a thing
because
i was somewhere on the backporch
smoking cigarettes with steve.

and whats really weird
is that i haven't smoked a cigarette
with anyone
in six months
and twentyone days.

postpartum

you just don't know where to begin,
each thought is stronger than metal
and these thoughts are threaded
into larger chains of being.

most of the time
we sit here,
stunned,
waiting for the daze to end,

unable to think,
unable to vacuum the fuzz
from our brains,

we are nothing more than microbial intentions
lost
in a wilderness of eventual endings.