February 19, 2018
Can you feel it through the city smog?
Of course you can!
This is all vibration
And nothing against the city
But the smog could not kill these thoughts
And the thoughts come in waves that
Emanate toward your heart
And I am all flailing limbs when I speak with intentions to love you,
And clammy hands
And you are all
gentle stroking of my hair
And loving touches of my spine
And I crave to rip into the muses of your brain
The way a werewolf would rip into your heart
But I am no werewolf
And you are no prey
And together we are two people
Sharing bits of soul and purpose
And it hurts so much to love you so hard
I hold onto the edges of the rainbow
the color in between the blue and green
because that’s the color of your eyes.
I grasp the rain drops within my fists
And put them inside my pockets
With my spare change and crumpled up
I take a mental picture of the
And how it lights up the
In your dark hair
I pinch together the thoughts
And I find it
To let go of
the rapid beating
of my heart
Won’t shut off
Even when I am
the light-switch on my
The golden hue of
And the colors
Of the sky
And my goddamn
Wet gum wrappers
Fit the mood
The swift movement
Of your long,
Has filling my lungs with air always been this hard?
Asthma exacerbated with the odor of stale cigarettes hanging heavy in the heat.
I feel like I’m going to puke up my lunch.
Whether it’s because of what you said, or the smell, I’m not sure.
But I’m most definitely going to puke up my lunch.
I say this with a chuckle because it’s supposed to be a joke, but I actually mean it.
There’s always been this romance about chain smoking outside of a coffee shop or some shit, but I just can’t stop thinking about the carcinogens and yellow teeth and foul breath when you kiss me.
In through the nose, out through the mouth is what my therapist told me.
But again, the dingy smell that clings to your clothes when you hold me makes that harder than it should be.
My lungs are squeezed hard by fists clenched too tight.
I’m kicking myself in the shin as I remember “In for five, hold for five, out for five.”
And I’m actually hoping you suffocate on your last puff of nicotine, while I choke from laughing too violently at the morbid irony of it all.
And then we both drop dead on the scorching pavement.
Happily ever after.
Like a fairytale gone sour.
I hope you burn in hell like the butt of your goddamn cancer stick on my forearm.