last time you said stop


i don’t get it. they tell me to write happy things.

the thing is you don’t feel the need to discuss your happiness on paper when you’re happy. you just embrace the moment and live it. i don’t want to talk about that.

momentary silence. dusk lit bedroom apartment

buzzing of cars from traffic afar, it’s when i

stare into myself. melancholy loves company

and misery loves to fuck with me, it’s pitiful

she sticks her head in while I’m telling a story

the room keeps spinning. I’m terribly sorry

today i apologize. i can’t be myself

try again tomorrow, bring me some help

and the day after that. don’t fade into black

amy said it best, when she said she’s treading a troubled track

been in love with a gunslinger. run my back

with your fingernails, tell me you’ll stay

leave scars, dig deep. i’ll tell you it’s okay

with whispered breath, inhale, exasperated lust

even if it hurts me, stab my grazing touch

it hurt writing those last four lines. they weren’t even much

that’s the thing with being a writer, your emotion is raw

like pouring a potion labeled love into a saucepan and stirring

caustic deterrence. awestruck with how, my wrong spats of burning

passion turn to rorschach’s, where i can’t discern it

call back. let me hold your arms back. let’s learn this

way to explore our bodies. near my chest there’s an armed guard

trained in combat, don’t go near there. fade into all black

fall asleep in my wine house. dizzily pour up your last drink

make sure the glass clinks. i’ve been told that noise is better than the absinthe

better than your absence

better than the last..

you’re better when we laugh. think

to the last time you’ve told yourself to stop

why did you go again?

sometimes silence is nice. most times i despise the need for questions

my secretary’s favorite line is “would you like to leave a message?”

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