I want nothing but to be selfish and lay around. I want to get dressed for brunch at 3pm. I skip class to lay with him and look at him. Instead, studying the way he takes off his shirt, and moves when he sleeps.
February 8, 2010
January 25, 2010
December 16, 2009
December 15, 2009
afternoon
He gave me a subway token and I put on my tights and my sweater. Rubbed off my makeup on the way home.
small boy
We walk down the street to the record store like last year. I figure I know what I want there. I make a purchase. He’s fumbling. His clothes are too big. He bought new ones two sizes smaller.
carpenter
The house still smells like gasoline and emptiness. He’s lived there for a half year. No one is dead. His diet is whiskey and cigarettes. He’s 18. I held his hand. We laid on the white sheets. And I cried. Not for him, For myself. That’s why he’s alone.
dirty dishes
This depression Soothes my boredom And seeps into the cracks in the walls Into the floorboards, It fills up my time. With the excuse for this great lot of repetition And blank existence This dull procedure that we go through. Waking up and eating Scrubbing the dirt out of my hair. Maybe chatting with the girl I live with. Going into work 15 minutes late. Picking up ...
chapterhouse
Sitting in a coffee house Reading a book Talking to some stranger that doesn’t give a fuck Me garbling on Spewing out some quick words so I don’t have to think so much about my embarrassment. He goes to UPenn I guess that means a lot. I did some dishes today. I go to art school But I don’t know what I want to ...
touches
I went to my old lover’s house. He’s crying as well in his studio apartment On his couch that touches his bed that touches his television In his kitchen living room. I’m not sure why, But I wiped his tears off his face. I think I was trying to fuck him. I kissed him and his lips felt Different. And I felt nothing.
small boy
Gripping at your chest, But I’m wrong for this. I can’t expect much. I shouldn’t get much from you. You’re crying in my bedroom Because I saw you as a child.
mouth
Mouth full of pills. I left him in the summer in the sunlight. None of those things made him feel better.
date
She sent you a birthday card from jail with a sketch of superman on it. She’s been there for 2 yrs. You took me out to dinner and I cried.
scavenging
Scavenging for a piece of our history Breaking in through my window to give me our book The police came and you were crying.
lady of clarion
Silly girls. Punching walls. Slurring words. Slipping off their clothing. Peeling back their skin, But proving little.
Slipped
Slipped a picture under my door. I immediately recognized The style of your penmanship.
Montrose
Windows covered with paper But no one has packed up or gone away He lives in a lonely place
Morning
Spreading the sheets All covered in white Your lips aren’t chapped anymore, I noticed
pico
I live in an attic on Clarion Street With stucco walls. I walked to work with a bloody head.
calm
I like not having eternal torment. Eating lunch on a corner street. Nowhere to be.
December 14, 2009
615 S. Clarion St.
The depression helps, as an excuse to myself. Staring at screens until the early hours of morning Eventually the white noise helps me fall asleep.
wet
Brown wet leaves Cool wind brushes against my cheek What a waste to be in the city.