(no subject)
I know you like
the weight of silence or
slamming doors.
Between the days I left and
then returned to the city,
you faded into the sidewalks and
your footsteps begin in the basement,
leaving small stories like a trail of
chipped teeth all the way
to
I don't know,
anywhere.
You have less to say,
like a deflated thing,
and I'm not who I used to
be. No, now I don't know some things you
wish I could understand but
I still know you
and I still care for you.
This december cold,
is going to run down our throats
like shooting stars,
it's freezing temperatures will
remain in our spinal chord.
I could've told you anything, I could've given you the universe. But I chose to leave you with less than goodbye. Less than a spare cigarette. More then, however, what anyone else left you with. I've asked around, it's the same story from everyone else: He's crazy, his whole family is fucked up. Fucking nuts. And I knew that from the start but now I really see it. I'm not sure what it means but if I thought it would help I might call you or ask you how you've been, knowing the answer is a text book response. The lines remain unfinished, and a lot of the words get lost. Only sometimes do I know exactly what I should say to you. But seeing you, however, is not something I think I'm capable of. No, not now. And maybe not ever again. But,
a phone call might be of help.
Maybe. It's all very hard to understand, I don't know how these things happen to such close friends. But they do and this is real and I'm sorry. I don't know why but I am.
the weight of silence or
slamming doors.
Between the days I left and
then returned to the city,
you faded into the sidewalks and
your footsteps begin in the basement,
leaving small stories like a trail of
chipped teeth all the way
to
I don't know,
anywhere.
You have less to say,
like a deflated thing,
and I'm not who I used to
be. No, now I don't know some things you
wish I could understand but
I still know you
and I still care for you.
This december cold,
is going to run down our throats
like shooting stars,
it's freezing temperatures will
remain in our spinal chord.
I could've told you anything, I could've given you the universe. But I chose to leave you with less than goodbye. Less than a spare cigarette. More then, however, what anyone else left you with. I've asked around, it's the same story from everyone else: He's crazy, his whole family is fucked up. Fucking nuts. And I knew that from the start but now I really see it. I'm not sure what it means but if I thought it would help I might call you or ask you how you've been, knowing the answer is a text book response. The lines remain unfinished, and a lot of the words get lost. Only sometimes do I know exactly what I should say to you. But seeing you, however, is not something I think I'm capable of. No, not now. And maybe not ever again. But,
a phone call might be of help.
Maybe. It's all very hard to understand, I don't know how these things happen to such close friends. But they do and this is real and I'm sorry. I don't know why but I am.