77mph

"i'll see you then": when the fears we've cultivated out of these shocking childhood memories and plastic bottles of hard liquor have manifested themselves into our arrogant rendezvous; our music that overflows and floods the room, our unashamed swallows of kisses and those jumbled clumsy embraces; slipping your fingers between my fingers between your fingers between my nervous thighs. railroad track scars! how you ran your nails down my trainwreck arms! searching, EXCAVATING: boy, what are ya lookin' for in that skull of yours? what's to be found in my LAUGHING SHAKING human landscape? what could i give ya? what could i

remember when you'd read all night and all day? under the yellow crusting lights of our dim and dusty apartment? i'd lay on the floor by you; flipping pages nervously trying to keep up. upstairs there was a women who collected porcelain dolls. (remember her?  her name was maryanne.) red shiny lips and glistening glass eyeballs; synthetic eyelashes, dressed in lavender party dresses. i dreamt i was your little glass doll with nimble fingers and pale white skin. and you'd love me. moby dick was your favorite book. you never fancied philosophy. you can't experience life by words, you said, sounding like socrates; your life kept

i am the statistic; pocket watches ticking and pediatricians' staccato steps through busy hallway traffic. next to me lies a girl who speaks through with her gut. two boxes of tylenol and a sip or two of hawiian punch and vodka. i wished once that i was involved with her thoughts; peeks of happiness and despair; not knowing of which was breaking her open or tearing her apart limb from limb. once i carved the letters in your name into my thighs; crying and stabbing my body with dirty blades and fingers beating at myself to hear you say: my dear, my dear, look what you've done! you say you don't understand me because i barely underst

as she laid there in the dew-kissed grass, ideas stuck to the rails of her train of thought, holding tight, holding onto her with a grip impossible to ignore.  normal thoughts.  thoughts of confusion and loneliness, mostly.  the boy to the right of her was closing his eyes but exploring the sky.  they didn't need to be open for him to feel the heavy air and the heavy sighs and the heavy atmosphere of peace and quiet the stars had set upon them.  that night a blind man could have seen the glow of each star and feel the reflection of the lights touch his cheeks.  two lovers lay across from her entangled in each other's limbs and desperate achin

tonight i feel like my insides are tearing itself apart.  like that night i downed two bottles of cough syrup and laid on my mother's couch paranoid and shaking; ears ringing  and head pounding to an unknown yet entrancing beat.  and the rhythm droned on for what seemed like eternity, leaving my heart racing to keep up with my psychological metronome pounding in my skull. i don't really know what to do or what to feel.  how is one supposed to react?  how does one react when their bed seems more like a coffin tonight and their main focus in life is suffocating and beating to death all preexisting perfection one finds within his or herself.  y

"if you ever need to tell me something, carve it into the birch tree."  you smiled the same way you smiled when we played with grandma's porcelain dolls, whispering behind closet doors, giggling to ourselves.  i guess i laughed to myself the same way when you made that reassuring statement; like i could carve all of my secrets and feelings of emptiness onto a tree in our grandparents' lawn.  so many days we spent sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling notes to each other and coloring in our coloring books.  you'd paint the picture and i'd tell the story.  that's how it always was. i saw you at the grocery store the other day, i don't know

i prepared a spot in my flower garden, cast iron chairs and a table set for two.  did ya know i kept that garden for you?  you know i water and protect and nurture those plants for the sole purpose of seeing the colors reflect off your glasses as you approach your seat across from mine.  sometimes  we dine like noblemen; laughing and boasting loudly, PROUDLY, as we think to ourselves about the troubles we abandon.  pour another glass of wine, my dear, let's talk about politics or love or wall street; ignore the aching reality.  or sometimes we snack on finger foods, pretending we are young suburban kids.  i'd smile shyly as you reached for th

this place is so grey in appearance!; in it's monotone colors and it's dull stench of mediocrity.  stometimes i think i'm a visitor, placed here by chance.  a tourist passing through, sleeping in hotel rooms and taking cheesy photos.  all to convince myself i'm having the time of my life; that it's worth the journey, that it's worth the stay.  sometimes i persuade myself into believing the images passing by my car window are beautiful, spectacular sights that people travel far and wide to see.  but i can't see past the tones and images; all so redundant, and[SWEETGODGETMEOUTOFTHIS]plain, so very plain and miserable. i keep a diary recording

crouched behind a large piece of furniture, stumbling in shadows&listening--no, FOCUSING--on the rhythm, the beat, the drums and the guitar; the melody and the faceless voice that cried for the same reasons i cried.  a reminder that my articulated and carefully plotted desires and solutions were not completely unthought of.  but once i saw a boy in the coffee shop near my house who had brown stubble and tired eyes.  he reminded me of the boy i had a dream about; my imagination, my mind's embodiment of perfection.  and he carefully transferred knowledge into words,  and words into ideas,  and ideas onto paper.  and i'm sure they were as beauti