Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Hands, forbidden

my nose somehow savors the unmasked musk of unbathed body. malicious musician, my hands are forbidden. our touch, a taboo and those memories become untrue. vehement, uncouth, burning your youth with shots and cigarettes and shameless sex. 
i realized today that you're leaving me with nothing left. so i've tried  to rest, but eyelids test me with images emblazoned, pasted, trapped of you -- where each nap is a nightmare called reality. and so it's a night where i might take a walk at three a.m. past a meth dealer's house i know, and i'm not sure i want you here or not but you can have the necklace I made with tears I've caught. In the morning someone will say that I'm built of poetry and you know as well as i,  just how prosaic my thinking can be. i know you'd agree. your dragging your heart; i'm dragging my feet behind you and it looks to me a bit like art.  in a few days you tell me secrets and i respond with my lies, saying "mmhmm.," "oh god!," and  "okay." once you've passed your burden on to me, you turn and walk away. and i do the same to you.
i tell you that we'll have a few drinks you by yourself and I'm on my own until we're too drunk to drive and our keys have been taken away. In the morning i might ask, "where did you wake up?" in some apartment with your clothes wet from alcohol spilt on the floor and rain soaked clothes because you went outside to smoke. You know i'd be doing the same thing all the while hoping that i help myself to a faith like yours and get better, but we can't get dry. not here. not like this. so keep chapping your lips kissing all those girls that fall so fast and fall so hard because you know everything i gave is like everything i write. lacking life.
it isn't impossible to get home without a car key.