Same things. To the letter. Doing better, but I still jump at your shadow like I'm mad, though I'm not. Well, maybe a little bit. Just because you left before we could fix this shit, and now I'm stuck here wondering. Like the slight pause lightning thunder brings, but the echo of your flash last blinded me to thinking like a blinking bloodied horse. My legs long since plowed a course through a solipsistic nightmare, where everyone was out for me like vultures. I sculptured masks to disguise the denial, and thrashed between blankets and top sheets. Casted you so discreetly as a monster that haunts early evening and ceilings above me. Stealing the light from the noon, fuck, I was so wrong about you. Am I mocking the dead, or just representing you as best I can? I don't know. I miss you, man.
Lately I've been wishing on lamp posts more than stars,
because the light from the cars keeps me small.
Isn't it magnificent? We're all so insignificant.
You make yourself and die with it.
I missed your funeral.
If anything, you taught me different ways to be.
Made peace with an eternity I never saw.
Sometimes, still, I choke it back.
You went in sleep, already black.
How you lay, I'll never know.
Where do all our stories go?
released June 29, 2015
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