tagged: #ladri #melon art

It’s getting cold, and I’m already waiting on the snow to kiss you in, again.

tagged: #melon writings
Cough Syrup

I buy vinyl records like I drink water at high noon

When the weather is dry like gin over cold bones,

And the way the geese like to cry about the ache in their necks

Over the border to Canada at the end of a brief cold spell season

            There’s a rainbow of colors

But at the same time, not really.

There’s blue, there’s black, there’s red, there’s green, and pink;

One’s a swirl of colors mixed grossly, the others are clear as glass

Still fragile as baby’s breath

            The only records I don’t own are the ones

That put me to bed on nights I don’t need

More than 30 mL of cough syrup

And that’s only

When I actually measure

Instead of take the whole bottle to my lips and guesstimate

How much it’ll take to put my tired soul to bed

Yet watch me be weary to rise

In the words of Mike Kinsella,

“I’m too tired to play” but, really,

Who cares?

It’s funny that it’s his records that

Put me to bed and early to rise

So they’re the ones I don’t own, but,

Every time I listen to him, his words

Get stronger.

As he gets older, I grow more


How long will it be before it’s

My turn

            And I’ll be writing songs about growing old

My parents being dead

My wife or husband, the kids or the dogs;

Maybe kids and dogs

How long will it be

            Before I grow just as old as Mike and sing just as much gold as 15 years ago?

How long before my branches wither

And the ink goes dry?

Another weary youth’s gone to bed

On another bottle of off brand cough syrup

And I still haven’t stopped walking, turning over new leaves.

Broken Windows


Maybe there was a better way to look at things,

But thinking things through has never made much sense when

You’ve always thought things with your hands

Molding your sense of right and wrong like

A child molds clay into the shape of their heart

And sends it off into the kiln, giving life,

Taking time.

How does one go about being stuck in their head all the time, with such

Contrary thoughts mismatched to the words spilling from their broken lips

Too chapped to bite, but soft enough to kiss?

If you rub hard enough, the surface of my skin will rid of all its calloused callouses

Beneath you’ll see the raw red of my humanity

When all you ever see are wolves’ teeth.

I should have taken a picture, with the way that light hit

Through the jagged shards, like broke angel skin

Onto you

Amber dazzling, freshly brewed beer

            It’s still a glint I regret never having taken.

tagged: #melon writings
2:55 A.M.

Some days, we forget that time is always running,

Or bodies always composing whilst at the same time,


Today, in the midst of a dream that I don’t even remember

In the slightest

I woke up in alarm in the early dawn of day

Barely of which, was even a start to the day,

But the dawn moreso dawned upon me that in but a few hours

I would be leaving

A bed.

Not just any bed.

Not the twin bed I grew up in, where the worn comforter

Was never pulled back.

Nor the futon that was slept on during hot, summer nights in a damp basement

Full of youth.

It was but a full-sized bed in a white room where the walls were bare, but the

Sheets were never made, yet

Their impressions never moved

And there was someone I loved to wake up next to

Each and every morning.

Each and every night.

            Her hair was always golden sunshine, when

The room was too many shades of bruised black, blues

And greys

            Tangled up around my clumsy, swollen fingers.

The faint smell of her milk skin so soft,

It melted, melded, and molded itself far beyond the mattress springs

Daringly so intertwined and intermingled past my running dreams

Sometimes so vivid, yet, escaping between the seams.

Either way, there were two bodies  in a bed, where

Love was cradled

            Even when voices were raised.

            Even when no love was made.

We forget we keep getting older

At least, I forget.

The reminder hit extremely hard

            A jab right to the chest.

So then, a lump formed past my vocal chords,

A cork stopped past my lungs.

            I didn’t want to go to work so early before the sun arose

Only to return to my twin-sized loner’s cot

All I wanted was to wake up to the familiar face that

Always slept under the sunny spot

             So I cried.

            Certain tears towards an uncertain future.

            I never get to see her face as often as I used to,

Sometimes, there’s too much space

Too little time to close the gap

            So even after all the kisses, the comfort of her warm embrace,

Wrapped closely intimate to that reassuring bosom,

Walking out that door there was only a cold shoulder, four hours of no sleep, a dying phone

Several missed phonecalls later, a conversation less than three minutes that haunts me;

            No “I love you”s.

            Only “Talk later”s.

At this point, I know now how

I’m no longer a confused kid growing in the warm, loving earth;

I’m just a tired adult with too many ideals cracked in concrete

Looking for steady work, steady love, a steady head

            Steady home.

            I’m home.

            But I’m not home.

There’s a reason why I carried that record player
All 10 pounds with an extra 5 of multicolored vinyls
Lying atop the wooden chest

I just wanted to say “I love you” and
Hope you had a good day or something along
Those lines that said “I hope you’re

Being bad at texting and always the one who’s
Worried about one thing or the other
A few calls, no replies, I guess it
Just got to me but

When you texted me those two words

I got lonely

My brightly colored records keep
Recording my lonesome
My sleep never changes to change me though I

Never meant.

I used to get anxiety attacks all the time.
At night, at the times where no one was ever
Lately, I feel like I’m going to have them just as
But I don’t want them because I know that
No one will be awake.

It’s tempting to just go and
Call her.
After all, I do
Love her.
But if I just keep fucking up
What’s the point?

Maybe I’m just bad timing.

I’m a mess.

When she looked at me and said
how I would make a great mermaid
I wasn’t expecting the response to my
Own amusement and curiosity as a
compliant answer to
make me doubt everything I ever thought I
Really was.
"I’d follow you anywhere."
When really I’m sure it’d be
Following you

We talked in the dark.

I thought about the adorable French piano player
Who I’d eventually share a first kiss with over a duet of
And go from there with my stained charcoal fingers
Straining through her angel-soft hair

I thought about the charismatic Italian who
I’d meet for one night over sex and art and then
Like the moon on a
Perfect night
Never see again

Then about that backpacker I’d run into
During a summer spent exploring the deepest depths of
My Persian blood
Traveling the rest of the way with our hands like
Tangled roots of molten brass and gold

Even about the girl who I said
I’d never stop loving for all the incarnations of which

And I realized.

To which may or may not be our inevitable end that
May of which spark itself from the ashes or stay
Dormant into eternal slumber
Somehow thinking in the realistic sense outside of my
Idealistic pool

I’ll miss you forever and regret we
ever fell out of love over a silly thing as

My wanderlust.

Today I smoked myself awake
Waiting for the drops of nicotine to be my catalyst for
Something to cure what is insecure;

Today I drank coffee that tasted like
A celestial scene to drink in
Without my eyes
Just my tasteless tongue
But when I was questioned it only tasted
Like a firm caffeine chokehold to put
My senses into a numbed state of
Without release.

Today I picked up a pencil with thoughts
Of money
Only to put it down
With thoughts of

Best couple coming through. Bree and Leo are p much the best okay? Okay. That’s why they get an extra and not just because uh. Leo is easily swayed by Bree’s magic hands okay ahahahahahaaaa okay yay let’s go and evaluate how I tried painting boobs

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