Letters
I sit and write letters to my two dead best friends.
If there are things I’m terrified of, they are brain tumors, motorcycles, and drunk drivers.
I’m going to have to start a new letter to the most influential person I’ve ever met, because it might take my mid off of the clock.
Tumors took my mom and the boy I thought would never stray from my parallel life path.
I should start on that other letter because of them too.
Damn drunk drivers took the light out of three peoples lives, and dimmed about a hundred.
I was thrown off the back of a bike once, but that’s not the only reason I’m horrified by them anymore.
I wonder what I should do with all these letters.
It’s said it takes seven years
to grow completely new skin cells.To think, this year I will grow
into a body you never will
have touched.― Brett Elizabeth Jenkins
(via ribchatter)
Chris.
Sometimes poems are just poems
Sometimes sketches are masterpieces
Sometimes friends are just friends
Sometimes it’s complicated
Sometimes simple is overwhelming
Sometimes we do things we shouldn’t
Sometimes we love them.
Sometimes a story is just a story
Sometimes magic is a trick
Sometimes angels are human.
Sometimes things shift
Sometimes things collide
Always, my handwriting sucks,
Always,
I’ll stick with you.
“Here’s a sketch for you, Chris. I was up all night. I fight for my friends, even when it’s complicated. I love you! (ignore the sketch on the back) Rachel Lacey Young <3 12-25-11”
He died January 20, 2012. I never got to give this to him. We were supposed to hang out the next day after I drew/wrote this because it was his only day off, Christmas, you know.I didn’t see him.
Don’t read poetry before going to sleep
Sometimes we forget that we remember things,
A euphoric night, a name or face,
A milestone, a landmark, a smell or taste…
Until we haul off to bed and wander our beings.
Writhing and grimacing and rubbing the burn in our veins
From the memories of things we put to rest to remain;
They lurch at your mind to force you back in time
To all the wonders and the horrors and blurs alike.
You lie there and feel every place she’s ever touched-
Not their touch- impossible, but it’s still quite nice…
A feather across your cheek, your jaw… Most of the time.
A warm, weary weight on your waist… Most of the time.
Your scalp crawls as when your hair was played with…
A pleasant itch as when it was pulled.
Your spine begins to arch and becomes a live wire,
As when it was sleepily exhaled upon… Most of the time.
You begin to smile and touch your lips, softly, like hers… Most of the time.
And then you recall the explosion in your gut that shot blood into your face
When you saw something you wish you didn’t
heard something you wish you hadn’t
read something you wish you wouldn’t.
Most of the time.
(Source: frantic-dreams)
Okay fuck everyone I figure I’m going to post all of my original content on this. I’m too lazy right now to copy everything over but I figure this is what I’m doing with this blog. Follow it if you wish, I may edit the “Mysteries!” and other like it link. Though I will replace it with this URL. Excuse the construction.
Watch out, she might bite!
And with the earth and ear-splitting crack
Of frozen land disembarking
From its ledge to which it clung ancient,
And with the thunder of a thousand cities
Of this portion of our crumbling world
Diving into the frigid graveyard sea,
My heart silently cracked and
A sliver of my soul slipped seamlessly into that same sea.
(Source: frantic-dreams)
“…romantic is such an ugly word. Just- say it with me-“
And when I say I miss you babe
Those words are always true
I’d rather be with you today
Your thrill to me renewed.
You say my hipbones are sexy when I let you explore,
And you are pleased to find the dents in my back.
The question of who is the you doesn’t matter anymore,
Though all of you should hope it’s not as easy as that.
(Source: frantic-dreams)
But does she know about me?
About what you said?
Or were you lying?
We were on the topic, surely you wouldn’t dare.
The second layer of myself, fully poised, ready, and fighting to jump out of this body
Believes you. It believes you.
But the crawling feeling curling along the nape of my neck
And hugging the convex back of my skull,
It winds into my mouth and I taste bitter, the epitome of bitter;
Gag-worthy and show-stopping,
This means I don’t believe you.
(Source: frantic-dreams)
But not in public, right?
My body is yours, revel in it because I… crave it.
Do with it what you wish in your exploration of my soul.
Count with your fingers the bones, the spots, the abnormalities;
Strong parts, weak parts, tight parts, scarred parts, familiar parts of me.
Kiss my cheeks sometimes and rest your eyes in mine like you do,
Breathe and lean into me like you do,
We’ll stop shaking soon.
Explore.
Perfectly timed proximity mines
She slept with my hand flat on her back
After a brief match, that’s her sweet spot you know.
I slept with my hand on her back
And then the dream attacked, torrential and slow.
I almost murdered you, you know
Said my lover of the past,
When your bullet didn’t do its task.
The first time, when it just grazed the back,
I just wanted to let you go.
As I contemplated this and
Minded the thought of trying twice,
A memory came roaring in,
Things scattering to the floor like dice.
I tried to do it once myself
And failed to pay the price.
You had done it again he said
As I am solid on the ground,
You picked a path not knowing were it led,
Same gun, a different round.
I lay almost tombstone still as my eyes begin to twitch,
Why are you screaming at me I say
As my trigger finger begins to itch,
I’d rather be dead than float this way.
I saw the blood spit onto the wall
Felt the anxious ache in my skull;
Once he had caught me when I started to fall
Gun to my head fighting away from his grip that felt so dull.
He pins me heavily now screaming you did it again,
Why are you trying to forget it?
In my dreaming state I try to recollect the event,
And as he speaks it seems to be injected…
Pushed into my clarity as I look down and find
There’s blood on my hands and I can smell that it’s mine.
It’s on his clothes hands and mouth so twisted in rage,
He says take a look around and see the mess that you’ve made.
There’s the gun on my left and my wrist free on the right,
Pain and realization hits me as I open my eyes tight.
We smile as he conjures me dead and then I was no longer there,
But in a place I have learned to call Elsewhere.
I tell my story to the people who accepted their fare,
Tens and hundreds but not thousands of times
In puzzles in prose in riddles and rhymes;
It doesn’t make sense to them either,
Nor in the waking world in which I float as ether.
“You should paint or write :)” “Writing now…”
I saw you in my sleep again,
Looking down at me on the floor.
We tend to interlock this way, Your knees next to my ribs.
You sit looking down and bent,
Your eyes searching me for more.
What are you thinking about you say,
I smile with my sharps and nibs.
Small hands grip my wrists again,
Slide them up the floor.
You tend to pin me that way,
Your shirt hovering over my ribs.
I lay with my elbows above my head and bent,
My eyes bright and huge and giving nothing more.
I like making you laugh I say,
Feeling your twitching fingernails down to nibs.
I kissed you like a fool again,
You lifted me from the floor.
I tend to damage myself that way,
Knocking hearts from their ribs.
Lines of reality are bent,
This cause and effect is much more.
What were we thinking you say,
Frightening the candles down to nibs.
I’m sorry I repeat again,
As fear spreads on the floor.
We are stuck this way,
Chaos rattling our ribs.
You keep your forehead on mine with neck bent,
We don’t know who hurts more.
I don’t know what to do we say,
Sharp and slow like pentip nibs.
We say our goodbyes again,
Screams as my feet leave the floor….
Things we talk about in bed
Time, time, time…
What is left is not mine,
What I wish this monster would take instead…
A vacation of the mind.
What I have left I’d gladly leave to fly,
What I want from this monster…
A clever way to die.
Time, time, time…
A Series of Haikus #4
You can hold your tongue
While I wire my jaw shut taut
My chest burns unseen
/
Your phrase repeated
Blood skips a pulse and I yelp
My reason to laugh
/
California speak
Iambic pentameter
Poem structure is fun
* (Typed up first, I will copy this into my notebook shortly, once I find the correct pen. Californians do speak in iambic pentameter. Liz pointed it out to me. Either the second or third beat or the fourth and sixth. Just think about it, Californians, you won’t be able to unhear it.)
A short paragraph.
I am not sorry, because you gave me good advice.
I don’t know how this happened.
I love you.