// commented out; (stabswithspoon) wrote in moosespresso,
// commented out;
stabswithspoon
moosespresso

lovesick:

i never thought i had so much to say, me, with my lower-case i’s and my

lowly opinion of myself;

i feel underestimated;

i feel exhausted and crushed under the weight of having to tell the truth to

people you are too chicken to speak with;

i feel the pull of caffeine, and even the pull of nicotine,

i feel the need for alcohol, i feel the sangrias aching at my heart

 

i could push you away and down into the gutters of my mind,

i could shove you into a coffin and nail it shut forever;

 

i feel abandoned, me in your city, projecting my loneliness

crying tears that should have stopped already,

cutting blood that should have clotted,

squeezing arteries for inspiration,

rubbing legs and holding hands with texas,

aching

aching

aching to go home,

dying for a home, for any home,

for you to let me back in yours ---

 

wondering all the ways this could have been different,

 

and watching stars above my head like traffic lights,

waiting for them to turn off or blink on so i may continue moving,

so i can grow ---

 

growing inside, growing, molting,

multitasking

 

new hours and glories of days

at the wonders of my propensity to eat the human spirit like corn on the cob,

biting off juicy kernels, only to have them stuck in my teeth,

seeking nourishment where there is none to be found,

 

laying and lying with boys

who aren’t you,

saying your name

out loud,

 

habitually aching for your heart next to mine,

breaking, breaking, breaking habits and time and hearts,

being fired and whipped and hanging myself

    in a million different places

on the bare white walls of my todays,

painting my tomorrows black or gold or empty of promise, devoid demise decadent

 

closing gaps only to widen the one between you and me,

passive aggressive, jealous,

 

you have my full attention, do you finally believe me?

you had my entire heart, and you threw me away.

 

i feel like trash, sleazy, weeping diamonds for you,

    and trains of betrayal of which i’d gladly step in from of,

offer to stop for you, offer to ride,

    i’d give you a ride anywhere,

and you know,

and you take advantage of me by accident,

 

because you’re too timid

because you’re too weak

because you’re too chicken

 

to hurt me enough to heal me.

 

and you will joke in the future and often about how you should have

done something awful so that i wouldn’t want you back, but that

doesn’t work either, because when you choose to change overnight and

not confide in the person who depends on you the most and on whom you depend the most,

 

you can only hurt.

you can only hurt me as i write about our life together, and think about

 

all the awkward moments between myself and strangers that i’ve endured today at

my expense.

 

innocent enough questions the yield my brutally honest (maybe too honest) answer.

and that, my favorite letter -- X -- the one i make over my wrists with chalk, pressing

them hard against the keyboard until they burn.

poor strangers and their year and a half of disillusion. but i am right there with them!

i am disillusioned too!

 

and now i make my merry way up and down the realms of thought

on all the topics that you brought

such closure to for me before, and

still i lay here on the floor,

dumping thoughts into words, picking them up

to test them out, running them through my mind,

dragging these words across my skin,

repeating circles and mantras, and

dying to bleed just a little.

 

and two-page poems that sing our praises

and then quickly fade to nothing but razors

as my thoughts turn back to nothing more

than what i must have been before

you waltzed into room 615b

and saved me from my poetry ---

 

and delusions are not reasons

to upset myself with tomorrow’s hopes

and still in season, i can’t please you,

struggling down a long indecision

voting for biggest pleasure

 

oh! we charted the stormiest weather! and you calmed my seas,

patient, trusting, trustworthy,

 

and now nauseous i return to dreaming states,

screaming, crying, poundings fists,

writing more and more you see,

about how much you meant to me ----

 

useless trite dialog of screams

me and you and in between

no more citing all the things i might have done

that should have been more carefully spun,

 

no more blaming asinine rejections

of vaguest affections

 (still i count on all my stars

       of the day we looked at the moon and mars,

 all the times i’ve tried to take your hand

        only by myself to stand

while you talked with other people at the party,

        i learned to bite my lip and introduce myself

  in your absence, your tardy-

                                  ness

        does not offend when i think of all the measures to mend)

    and now expectations

 about foreign vacations are

   subdued and refused, returned,

 

and books and clothes and curtain rods,

 and all the pokes and all the prods

  and all the times i seeked your hand,

your guidance or your soft command

 

and trains and pages of dragging poetry

    THESE WERE NOT MEANT FOR YOU AND ME ---

 

we shall be buried in the rocks of time

 of failed relationships and suicide,

 

waves crash into our memory, and drift us long out to sea.

no swimming back, can’t hold the line,

 

so i open my palm and let the breeze take its time.

the kiss doesn’t fly free from my palm to your lips anymore,

 i shut the door, i shut the door, i shut the door.

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