For the poems of Jake Killay and for Jake Killay too, might as well.

I miss the feel of you.

Rushed conversations on the telephone can never replicate

the words exchanged, the words left behind on my bed.

Pass the wine.

Pass the last line.

Trapped in a circle of indecisiveness ,

yours and mine.

Anticipating creations

mine and yours.

Chasing time zones,

to hear your voice.

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August 8th 2017

white noise, white lies

sweet embrace

chocked out goodbyes

broken clocks and mended wounds

I give the best bad advice

don’t text me anymore

so much is lost in translation

hang up the phone

 

consistency? barely even knew her

twenty four & headstrong

coffee and american spirit cigarettes are the only consistent beings in my life

chasing pavement,

the smell of my grandmother’s perfume

and my self-esteem

all i can do now is

wait for winter

with my suitcase packed, stuffed underneath my bed

in hopes that it will take me

somewhere new

i like to collect wine corks empty lighters

they remind me of you

 

 

 

 

and it never waves goodbye

still in motionless flow

hand stretched out into the promise of hope

fingers touching the edge of tomorrow

I do not fear the unknown

recklessness and change are one in the same

chasing the second hand of the clock

my biggest fear is falling through the cracks of history books on dusty shelfs

or

getting lost in between the pages of calendars, forgotten

still in motionless flow

hand stretched out into the promise of home

fingers touching the edge of yesterday

I do not fear the unknown

I guess,

if home is where the heart is

mine lays scattered across the roads

and the interstates of the towns I haven’t been yet

goodbyes and broken clocks

time never waits for anyone

especially me

it ain’t pretty

when I get lost inside myself

and the weeks and the months

and the different colors

and the calendar

blur together

the sound of my feet hitting the gravel

brings me back to life as we know it

 

at night, when the streets are empty

i feel like the last woman on earth

gravity grounds me

 

but,

lately,  i’ve been waking up and putting on my running shoes

5am

the morning sun slowly peaks above the horizon

and  i feel brand new, sins forgiven

 

if home is where the heart is…

mine

is

 

 

 

 

 

Tired so tired so tired 

lovers who love to love me, or so they say

You wanna get married, you wanna procreate.

Take a look outside, the leaves are starting to turn, and the taste of your lies, aged.

Evolving, continuing.

The truth will set me free.

Her name is Lauren, she’s pretty oh so pretty.

Here I am, waking up next to you.

Shame on me.