You Know Where, and I Hate It

He tells me

he doesn't want to hurt me. 

Silence. 

I scoff.

He cannot hear

the dead pang of

crescendoing static

getting lost in

the signals of

burnt out lighthouses

guiding me some place

I want to call home,    home,       home

y  o  u  r  h  e  a  r  t  b  e  a  t �" 

what does that even mean?

There is always 

a hollow knock echoing

from a front door

and into this kaleidoscope 

of snakes and butterflies. 

I ask you, "turn off the lights"

and kill your phone before

I get too close again �" 

that doesn't change

how I sleep when you're not here. 

I place my ears against the wooden floor

and mistake every noise this house makes

as a faint footstep, listening for when

you return to me

if you ever return to me. 

Because I have witnessed

how the moonlight touches your hair,

how she traces your figure,

the aperture curve of desire

beckoning my fingertips

to explore beauty that

is sculpted beside me.

These bed sheets 

anchor my depression, 

we are swimming Hadal's hell bound hold,

and I will always make sure you aren't drowning.

Silence. 

He said he doesn't believe in monogamy. 

He said he doesn't want to hurt me 

but does he witness this dead man's float now?

Let the rapture swallow. 

Prepared bandages and tourniquets 

could never prepare the wound

that comes with the phrase,

"you were good to me." 

Filmstrips of memory

recollects itself in sad songs

and you do not see

the mirror in your lips,

how familiar you are to me

yet still so distant. 

I accidentally called you babe today. 

Where are we going?

He says, "just live in the moment."

He says, "this is different for me."

He says so much with his silence. His eyes.

He's closing the door,

leaving the chain dangling 

waiting for my arrival,

or so I tell myself.

Maybe he wants someone to find the dead body.

We fall asleep late,

count the night skies 

as body against body 

creating static with bed sheets.

I leave you in the morning,

and cry because 

maybe if I wake myself

from this re occurring dream

I won't succumb falsehoods 

of walking this thin line 

I've walked both sides on. 

The other side always seems tempting. 

Worth dying for. 

But over the ocean, outcasted 

with no where to go

except this brighter horizon 

dawned by emptiness,

and just enough highlight 

to reel me back into bed with you. 

I still sense a storm drawing near. 

Until then, lets waste

this youth chasing kites,

I know you will blow away from my hands. 

I cannot read your palms,

my gypsy heart is no psychic,

as even blind men can see this vision:

despite smiling with tears in my eyes

I am falling in love with you.

Do not mistake this as power. 

Bottled letters cast into deep waters

as this discovery gets lost in the sea �"

place your hands in the sand for there's nothing to see. 

Within love resides subtle fear

and this bitterness stains my tongue, 

swallowing every insecurity, sins revealing wrongs. 

I will continue burning through your mercy

while waiting on a bit of grace. 

Just wait. Don't walk, 

Can you read my thoughts? 

I know that you'e better off now

and I hate it for you. 

But I will practice more patience with you.

You know where to find me.

You know where

you know where

you know where to find me. 

Don't wait. Don't look. 

Run. I know you read my thoughts,

and too close is aways where I'm at �"

and I hate it for you too

and I hate it

and I hate it

and I hate it for you too.