From the beginning,

It started with a chair,

a blue, secondhand, beer stained lazy boy.

it made root in front of his white blinds dressed in dust.

it started with the way he looked at me.

it stared with the way his origami bones laid peace to my folding mind.

 

Champaign summer shinned through his black curls

Our balaclava hearts unmasked for one last night.

 

‘lets make it a riot;’ he said

‘one last kiss for our worn out faces.’

God only knows, but we never leave; my lips classic red

and his fear of being anything other than what’s expected ruined these spaces

we held sacred and now we survive on better left unsaid.

this chair eventually became our trenches, four hands and two lost cases. 

I came with leather rib cages that became defenses, he with riddles to keep me fed.

he told me I had a ‘face of a saint;’ but I am the sinner; a virgin with lost graces

across the recliner. He never belonged to me but we still bled

our brains beneath the black carpet that scared our backs. Skipping bases

because as soon as the sun comes up there is no place for a love long mislead.

He said ‘ f**k me like it matters.’ without loosing his paces

 

Sweaty tongues stuck on empty embraces

we drifted into a silent thread,

he became the chaos in me.

Sprawled out gripping chair, blonde hair knotted and fingers

become a head. His whispers swallowed each ear and the clock stumbles

against every thrust. We always go through these worn out wilting phases

both too stubborn to fight what we tore apart our flesh for.

 

Now the panty laces

dangling from the shower sheet don’t belong to me.

When can we behead the robber?

As hard as she tries he never erases

my name from his south side bones. I am where he is born and bred.

These crossroad thighs always bring him back to the basics.

Our existence strived from six am pick up truck races; anywhere and everywhere.

Even now I’d kill for the rush of getting caught.

This recliner once own by a couple married for thirty years;

a sign of our assured immortality,

because rock bottom was never an option.

Until rock bottom was all we had.

You see, like every first time you are set on fire

you stare at the flames before you realize

that maybe the warmth isn’t worth the pain.

That’s it, isn’t it? Whether we wait around for it

or it spills into our lives like a crack in the water cooler, slowly

then all at once, we all want a blistering reminder

that who we are is okay.

Because his sinister mouth purred every time he stared at me

but the show was so distracting so even when he sliced us to scrap

the climax made the butcher knife bearable. Now I’d tear that

that damn blue lazy boy apart to find traces of skin from the people we were before.

Because that cursed beer stained b*****d, saw it all

and never warned us of the inevitable fall that comes to shooting stars.

 

Two tangled trains make

frantic fighters faceless;

a year gone breathless. 

 

We were two inches too deep in a foot long

story, because a piece of s**t should never be with another piece of s**t.

The stench becomes something fatal.  

Months followed with letters unsent.

Dear A*****e, that night I thought I could be strong

but I smoked a whole pack of cigs, I even burned a few in good o’l lazy boy. Make it

a note to tell him I’m sorry. Just another victim of my big mouth unstable

and worst intentions-your fault too you left everything behind with your scent.

you

and

I

were

two

flames

in

the

same

fire,

but

you

needed

a

cold

wave

and

I

made

you

worse.

Dear Lost Boy,

I listened to my voicemail last night and you were the star.

I’m sorry she doesn’t get the premise of Space Odyssey

like I do. I’m sorry she doesn’t like to get drunk and then naked

I guess those were our Tuesday nights.

I know we played this fast and loose and we were something real,

but you can’t call me- that’s not okay.

Dear Douchebag,

Thanks for turning me into the biggest f*****g cliché.

It’s been three months and I only hear from you when you’re high.

Apparently she doesn’t smoke, while I always hit one too many times.

I could have loved you until our moon fell apart and our rotten teeth

drifted in our saliva, You had me fall in love with your stars

when you weren’t entirely sure of the night.

Dear stranger,

it’s been a while since I’ve last wrote you.

A year to be exact.

I wanted to say thank you.

I learned that I am more than the lonely daughter of a man

who made too many mistakes.

I learned I am more than our bad choices

I’m sorry you never grew from under the shade

of being the son of a deserter.

I tried to help, but only you can shake your roots.

and there is more to hurt for than us .

Now there’s this boy dressed in potential-

the first boy since you. He kissed me

but doesn’t really see me yet and he,

well he reminds me of you.

 

In case you were wondering

the lonely lazy boy is in my storage,

I couldn’t let go of it until now-

maybe I’ll sell it.

 

Something about the blue corduroy, it never lets me forget it started with a chair.