Did you go, I screamed
The coffee cups were filled with tequila.
As spirited apes thrust in the dark, leaving dirty marks and hand prints on skin soft as angels massive wingspans that traversed canyons of discontent and hatred.
As we lay on the floor, in drunken stupors screaming blasphemous lyrics at a god whose sour bitterness caused the pain that was muse for these masterpieces of musical grandeur.
As my best friend drank himself stupid on a texas beach and spitterspatter green vomit from the second floor balcony smearing dirty secondary tequila stains across the concrete below.
As he lay in the back of his fathers truck with his forearm in an infantile stretch above his head in a cowering attempt to hide his face from the one he loved.
When the boy screamsandwhispers sweet nothings at you from the third floor as you walk (pitterpatterpitterpatter) across the sands to where the water darkens the tan sand of the beach of crystal.
When the footrace against a light brown chevy ended just as soon as it began, but the poor boy realized he was miles from where he was supposed to be, somewhere near the jetty.
When the sun came down and wrote words in the sad boys back with a superheated pen, leaving blister marks that popped and peeled as the days progressed tearing temporary scars to show the internal pain from the inside out.
When I left early because we had to go home, at eighty down a dark freeway covered in rainwater, triviality as we jumped a small curb and nearly lost control, and "perhaps we should slow down?" seemed irrelevant because the danger had passed...right?
Who left body marks in grass, snow angels that held each other in suggestive tones, with interlocking fingertips and other such unmentionables.
Who screamed with joy, who yelled orgasmic blashpemes at the birds in the tree just above the murky swamp waters, as a boat ran upanddown against a post covered in cut up tires and made sloshslosh sounds with each subtle movement, the kind of sound hollow jars make when submerged.
Who held her head down, who screamed and clawed at stubborn buttons that came between you two, who's skirt never really needed to be removed, and through the trees, as echo I sream at you, Narcissus, "did you kiss him, did you hold him, did you run your hands across his chest?"
Who turned the lights off in the bathroom we were both in, in a sort of sly manner I wasn't to notice, and closed to door, who moved to the other bedroom, an ironic and literal, making of a bed.
What dark lives we lead.
What secretive, unhealthy secrets we hold.
What love we share, but share so openly.
What ties we makeandbreakandshake.
Oh how now demons of past.
Oh how now history rewritten.
Oh how now bleach.
Oh how now, coffee cups filled with tequila..
As spirited apes thrust in the dark, leaving dirty marks and hand prints on skin soft as angels massive wingspans that traversed canyons of discontent and hatred.
As we lay on the floor, in drunken stupors screaming blasphemous lyrics at a god whose sour bitterness caused the pain that was muse for these masterpieces of musical grandeur.
As my best friend drank himself stupid on a texas beach and spitterspatter green vomit from the second floor balcony smearing dirty secondary tequila stains across the concrete below.
As he lay in the back of his fathers truck with his forearm in an infantile stretch above his head in a cowering attempt to hide his face from the one he loved.
When the boy screamsandwhispers sweet nothings at you from the third floor as you walk (pitterpatterpitterpatter) across the sands to where the water darkens the tan sand of the beach of crystal.
When the footrace against a light brown chevy ended just as soon as it began, but the poor boy realized he was miles from where he was supposed to be, somewhere near the jetty.
When the sun came down and wrote words in the sad boys back with a superheated pen, leaving blister marks that popped and peeled as the days progressed tearing temporary scars to show the internal pain from the inside out.
When I left early because we had to go home, at eighty down a dark freeway covered in rainwater, triviality as we jumped a small curb and nearly lost control, and "perhaps we should slow down?" seemed irrelevant because the danger had passed...right?
Who left body marks in grass, snow angels that held each other in suggestive tones, with interlocking fingertips and other such unmentionables.
Who screamed with joy, who yelled orgasmic blashpemes at the birds in the tree just above the murky swamp waters, as a boat ran upanddown against a post covered in cut up tires and made sloshslosh sounds with each subtle movement, the kind of sound hollow jars make when submerged.
Who held her head down, who screamed and clawed at stubborn buttons that came between you two, who's skirt never really needed to be removed, and through the trees, as echo I sream at you, Narcissus, "did you kiss him, did you hold him, did you run your hands across his chest?"
Who turned the lights off in the bathroom we were both in, in a sort of sly manner I wasn't to notice, and closed to door, who moved to the other bedroom, an ironic and literal, making of a bed.
What dark lives we lead.
What secretive, unhealthy secrets we hold.
What love we share, but share so openly.
What ties we makeandbreakandshake.
Oh how now demons of past.
Oh how now history rewritten.
Oh how now bleach.
Oh how now, coffee cups filled with tequila..