Who am I when you find your Oxycodone?
and when your face is not disgusted as you hold in your cigarette smoke for a few seconds longer.
It’s not melancholy, it can’t be. It’s lavender you cut with your hatchet and broken bones.
It’s a new form of artistry, you built it on your own from your dirty laundry and keepsake dried flowers.
My subconscious is expecting to find a tilted lampshade in your bedroom because I know you like I know every word to that Beatles song
But you would never expect that just by looking at me.
I am uncertain of who is afraid in this room, but I am terrified of opia and judgement day
While you are afraid of a labyrinth.
We can find divinity in our differences and blue raspberry vodka.
I have always struggled with god-head
But the sun on your skin is your own god, moving water that breaks down rocks
Summoning ultimate reality – a deeper absolute
That determines when the world begins and ends.
But that’s the thing about today,
It’s December and the world is on fire outside your bedroom window.
The heat clutches my limbs, but it holds your eyes.
We can pretend to be solemn statues and not speak a word
When I tell you my uncertainty of these words being to you or for you –
And the world is no longer on fire, the animals were replaced with ice.
There is judgment on the day they melt, and the smell suffocates everyone –
Brain to mouth,
And you said my rot was the most beautiful.
This is not war, it can’t be, but I-65 is a battle ground.
My ribs cracked to the sound of your voice last week,
but I still have thirty seconds left on the timer in my pocket.
I’ll speak in the songs I play while you draw on the walls,
I know you and comfortable silence l know the bomb threats coming from my chest.
If I make the same mistakes over and over again,
We will stop calling them mistakes and replace it with the word
Compulsions.
Maybe you know me like you know the end of the world.
Ultimately, the world will die in silence.
Judgement day –
While you stay on your rock
With a pencil in your hair.