I haven’t written in a while and well all that is about to come to you through many, endless stories. Get ready for a roller coaster. I have been going through some really incredible times of my life for about the last 2 years. I don’t know how to verbalize all of it and some very tricky parts are expressing themselves through poetry right now. So, I hope you enjoy.
*all work is original
WON’T BE LONG NOW
I wake up to find myself hung on the wall, through the hole where my heart used to be. A strange feeling sweeps over me. I let myself get hung up when you let me down. So now I let me down.
Walking down this corridor of Time, I tap the barrel against my temple. The air is so thick and wet, I can’t tell if the drips on the wall are condensation or paint. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. “Thinking, thinking, thinking.” I nuzzel the barrel like a cat. Sweat has plastered hair to my face and I can still feel the thickness of recent events, heavy, under my fingernails. And this headache… a cacophony of shared words that won’t cease OR desist. On the PA system I can hear someone talking. ...You’ll sniff me out to offer me a bleeding heart with a song so coy and cunning… These lights are too bright and flood my brain till I forget myself completely, the way you used to do…
“I did it for me.” A disembodied voice escapes my throat, sounding more like a wild animal than humane. The wall offers stale cool relief for a fleeting moment. I close my eyes and for once, I can’t find your voice in my head. The PA sings again …But, this is not even your heart… Instead, I find your face in the tiles, stepping on your reflection, dissolution lulls me to the floor. Drip. Drip. My eyes can’t hold this stare much longer. Leaning back to find the wall but I fall through it instead…
…and straight into paralysis as I plummet through an alternate universe, painted with images of a life, shared, together. Strange, as I fall, there is no moving air. I’m choking on puffs of smoke upon which the videos of our Cold War are projected. (singing) A-A-E-I-O Fuck-U…Lew sitting in a rocking chair, hands me a set of cutlery as I sail by. Someone asks me what I want for dinner… The PA sings …This heart is the soul of your last lover and I can see the outline of your body walking towards me, dinner plate in hand.
And I’m reaching for the walls- anything to break the inevitable pain of landing but the walls are seamlessly slick on some kind of… jizz? And my feet won’t stick. Video screens displaying memories of a bizarre reality-life, a million “likes”, and lucky number 478 at the center, doing her most convincing beauty-queen wave, while one camera finds you just off-stage, already jerking off to number 479…
…And I land on my knees on the gravel outside your front door. I’ve bitten my tongue and the salt of words left unsaid burns deep. I go to spit and out come broken promises, etched with names of the faceless women of your past.
And I can feel the wind. It grips me with anxiety. Fortune has let you go. Soon, you’ll be back on the hunt and it won’t be long.