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,
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
As he gets older, I grow more
How long will it be before it’s
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.
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,
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
Amber dazzling, freshly brewed beer
It’s still a glint I regret never having taken.
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
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
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
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
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
After all, I do
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
"I’d follow you anywhere."
When really I’m sure it’d be
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
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
I’ll miss you forever and regret we
ever fell out of love over a silly thing as
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
Today I picked up a pencil with thoughts
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