there must be a hole in my pocket, or perhaps a tear in my clothes because there is something, some vital part of myself that i keep losing track of. some piece falling off of and from my person. maybe its my hands that have let this thing escape through them like water through their fingers, maybe they are to blame being broken, old, and worn. ( Read more... )

some things in life should never be taken for granted. i'm sorry if i did that to you, if i grew out of you. i never meant to leave you behind, like an old toy or a favorite shirt that just got too tight. you were always a more than willing friend, always excited to see me regardless how long it had been. you'd run to the door like it was the first ( Read more... )

sometimes i think of the days that have passed, the things i have lost, and how the tides have guided the sand and softened the footprints. there are many events that i do not remember the way that they surely must have happened, but i dream of them nonetheless in dark nights or slow days and at those moments build them from the bottom brick. i ( Read more... )

i’m tired ( Read more... )

this is for you, the Blower’s Daughter, Mi Morena. god, i haven’t felt this way for The Longest Time. I Remember when all i ever wanted was Somebody To Love and i spent my nights Lonelily writing Love Songs for No One and Dreaming With A Broken Heart. i felt Black, empty, and tired of convincing myself to simply hold on, that Someday You Will Be ( Read more... )

such is the pattern of my life. a mother confuses a son's face with that of an old lover, laying animosity over the frail frame of innocence. a girl leaves a boy, however unconditional his love, for pudgy, smoke-filled lips and liquor bottles that circle the room. and now a father, in his infinite wisdom and judging right hand, pushes a son to ( Read more... )

is it the shake of my hands? are they too timid to touch or too viral and curious? do they quiver too much to hold? is it the stumble in my step or the way my knees buckle when it rains? is it the way i fumble with my words, mumble, stutter or just say the wrong things at all the right times? do i talk too much or too little or just about too much ( Read more... )

a week? a month? how about a fucking day.

i'm too tired for this. it's no secret that i'm not made for short term, for light and easy, for something so, so casual. i need something that i can't help but need. you can be distant and i can't stand distance, because it makes me feel left behind, forgotten, and nonessential. i can't feel replaceable the way i always feel replaceable. you don't ( Read more... )

"I wonder if it was worth it. Whatever happened to me in my life, happened to me as a writer of plays. I'd fall in lust. And at the height of my passion I would think 'So this is how it feels,' and I would tie it up in pretty words. I watched my life as if it were happening to someone else. My son died. And I was hurt; but I watched my hurt and ( Read more... )