Used-up Things

Jul 30, 2011 17:13


(This is a poem about Dean and his feelings, but it's also about Cas, so I think it counts.)

It’s one a.m in a unkept motel room
On a dirty bedspread. 
Is there ever a clean one?

There are things I wish were mine to tell you, things you already know
The way a mechanic knows his engine
The way I know salt-a thing I have tasted, ingested, swum in,
Drowned in, felt seeping in every bend and crack.
There are things about my father, my brother, what I’ve done for them
To make them happy, to make them love me back, to keep them close-
I’m needy. You do what you have to, Baby, you live
The way you know how.

This is a truck stop in Missouri. This is the out of order
Men’s restroom with the flickering light that will make your eyes water
If you stand here long enough.
This is me alone on the road and my dad hasn’t called in five days.
These are the things you can’t tell my brother.

Does it ever bother you, how good you are at killing things? Is that why
You’re so hot for me, the one thing you got to put back together?
You would love me the way the fire loves a log,
Suffocating love. You and me, Baby, we’re too much the same.

I wish we didn’t know each other. I wish we met for the first time
When we were young, when I still thought happiness would solve everything.
I wish you were that first boy I’d crushed on, changing next to each other
In the locker room, knowing just enough to feel disgusting, hating the way
The sheen of your chest could make me blush.

I wish we were half-forgotten things like signatures in the front of a yearbook,
Like a heartbreak so old you feel it as a bruise,
only hurting when prodded.

a: thoughtsickles

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