Waiting for You

I want to crush you,

and hurt you,

or in some way prove you deserve those things,

while maintaining my sense of morality.

which is at least a wall I can hide behind,

allowing my brain to roam free,

on the terrain of evil,

exploring peaks and valleys,

to learn where to hide and when to attack.

the calm that follows the anger is unfortunate,

stamping out the crime of passion,

when rationality can come back,

slowing my movements and thoughts,

returning them to human,

I know when shown everything wrong with the world,

I’m shown myself.

 

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Waiting for You

Forced Life

I remember when we were 18,
And life was only as interesting as we made it,
But we had little to make it,
There were drugs,
Punk rock,
Gang fights,
Broken windows,
Stolen cars,
Sexual assault,
Love,
And police,
To nudge life’s needle toward excitement.
But most nights were quiet,
Car rides and ice cream.
Or late night playgrounds.
We drove to Target,
To try to hit adulthood,
Where she left you behind.

Every action was motivated,
By a need to feel important.
In a life when a moment of silence,
Allows the loud march of the future,
To pound our heads to mush,
Until our skulls crack,
And we can feel inevitability,
The upcoming uncertainty,
Crashing around a small existence.

Forced Life

Finding

I’ve had a glimpse of the future,
It looks a lot like a spiral,
Or a silhouette,
But it reminds me of something much darker,
Of a road with no way to get back.
There’s a decision I have to make,
Regarding the future,
That eliminates the present,
And reduces the world to a point.
I may be withheld,
Determined to become what I fear.
There are infinity versions of me,
Wrapped around the world,
Waiting for time to catch one,
For the sun to burn a hole,
Of the present to make you now.
Until then I’ll hope,
That what is inevitable,
Will miss me.

Finding

Come Back Home

I’m driving straight into the sun,
At 6 pm on a Tuesday night.
It’s the worst time of the day to drive,
I’m in the middle of commute,
Blinded,
Distracted by the day.
I’m searching for my family.
But I’ve left them somewhere,
I can’t remember.
I’ve retraced my steps,
The street I grew up on,
My elementary school,
High school,
Friends houses,
Broken windows,
Stolen cars,
Gang fights,
Swearing and crying.
But I haven’t found anything worth keeping.
I’m not convinced I had a family to begin with,
Or just a collection of people burdened with keeping me alive.
I’m alone in my car,
Going back to my new apartment,
Near my new school,
Around my new friends.
There’s a message waiting for me on my phone,
It reads,
“Come back home”

Come Back Home

Warm Hands

I’m back at my parents house,

where I lived ten years ago.

i first touched your knee in the driveway,

sitting in the passengers seat of your car.

you were telling me a story,

about your friends promiscuity,

and the confidence she had when she looked at me.

I didn’t notice she existed.

or the jealousy in your voice,

when your hand touched me the volume dropped out,

the music had shifted,

danced away from our presence,

making room for the coming explosion,

of love,

of fear,

of what we never expected.

 

I warch the  neighbor walking,

two of her old dogs,

slowly making the loop,

around the corner,

after I warmed to,

the idea of never come back.

Warm Hands