[threepoems.][ifeellikeshit.]
[slow panic.]
it’s slow panic because it lets you down easy every time,
as you walk up the steps to your apartment,
hoping for rain or at least something definite,
the haze of alcohol and forgotten contact on your clothes,
keeps it all dank and interesting
there’s a silent scream warm enough to coat your throat,
a few misspelled words and a left over army,
exhausted by the proposition of loving you anymore,
suitcases are really just bags underneath your eyes,
a reflection of moonlight in brass coat buttons,
quick enough to charm up all of your advances
two kids sleep full enough for disaster,
and it reminds you of all of the things you’ve ever touched;
sensations dulled down just enough to be memories,
keys and pocket change by an open door,
it’s slow panic because you’ve always loved the way it singed your skin
[always just.]
cruel enough to nearly be complete
we scrimped and saved for other seasons
almost as entirely undone and passified
but nonetheless it all leaves you just as insecure
with the chipped nail polish dreams and endless highway
I’ve been thinking for awhile; that in the end
life's always going to still be sweet
I’ve been thinking for awhile; about pulling the teeth and taste buds
straight out from deep inside of your mouth
[an alternate address.]
do you remember kissing that California pavement with bare feet,
swearing to god that you’d never fall from disbelief or scrapbook nostalgia,
you were always a pop-rocks, punk-rock king,
graffiting your empathy outwards until nearly undone,
and by the end it was never really audible anyway,
more of just a lingering scent; a haze that filled you up,
and with all of this movement I stamped the letters for an alternate address