little ted.
sometimes i bite my nails jagged
and i run their ragged edges over my cheekbones.
i look in the mirror;
eight rivers of angry red are staining the blank white canvas of my face
and my eyes are black holes above them, empty pockets of space which,
from a far enough distance,
like maybe 50 miles north of your house,
look like empty sockets in a skull kept under soil for seventeen years.
-
i have a new home.
it is far away from you.
your silent anguish.
your alcoholic despair.
your emotional baggage strapped to your back after your first real relationship.
your unwillingness to see my problems from fear of acknowledging your own.
no food in the kitchen,
no hot water,
no parental bond.
i opened the envelope in the car.
and after two years all it took were nine blue letters in uppercase in the top left corner.
even here, far away, i can hear you pacing outside the door.
you have your mouth opening and closing but letting no words pass between your teeth.
your self doubt is hanging thick in the air and seeping in beneath the white wood
and so you drift back down the stairs like the ghost you've become and reopen the bottle.
we never got along but that doesn't mean i do not miss you or that i am not sorry you see so much of yourself in me.
here, in the city, i will fly or fall.
far from twenty-four year old cartoon bears and their paintbrushes,
from writing on the walls and mess on the floor and nineteen empty bottles,
and the morning i left you in tears on the living room floor.
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Comments
My favourite parts are:
"and after two years all it took were nine blue letters in uppercase in the top left corner.
even here, far away, i can hear you pacing outside the door."
and
"from writing on the walls and mess on the floor and nineteen empty bottles,
and the morning i left you in tears on the living room floor."
(p.s. you can come back now please.)
--
It’s a bit hard to love me when you’re dead.
[i miss you
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
" ...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."
--
It’s a bit hard to love me when you’re dead.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
" ...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."
this is remarkable. i don't understand it but i love it, and i love the choose life in the artists comments....stuffed crust pizza and cameras...
x
--
I wish i was a Warhol silkscreen
Hanging on the wall
Or Little Joe, or maybe Lou
I'd love to be them all.
Then all New York City's broken hearts
And secrets would be mine
I'd put you on a movie reel
And that would be just fine.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
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