I need better friends, or be a better friend. Probably both. I don’t know.
It’s becoming an incredibly hard road to walk on and at times I feel like there’s no one for me to hold on to.
- I used to think that I would have more people in my life as time went on.
- Its almost like as we get older, the number of people that completely get us shrinks. Nobody else understands.
Tell me again of the night we hugged our dead cousins for the last time
rain water so cruel it turned my warm hands cold
we tucked them in their favorite Halloween clothes
kissing them goodnight like lighthouses to the ebb tide of evening sea
Tell me again of our summer beneath the tree
we talked of dead poets, sunken cathedrals, of flying in make-shift contraption together
I could hold you up while you flapped those wings of glued linen until we glided
we would finally learn how the wind tasted like, what the night was hiding
dining up on smoky canyon ranges with stars for our candlelight
your skin against my skin, we would lick the years away like sugar cubes
our bones yearned air, but our feet still scratched the ground
echoes of our fathers murmuring through the scorched earth, calling us home
but we didn’t care, for we were busy
finding words to name each new sensations
fighting for memories against forgetting
we carried on, but for how long?
you left one day with the window unclosed, silk curtains waving me apologies
our ember still smoldering ashes on the winding road
our flesh still scarred with fresh promises and never-ending goodbyes
I often thought I would meet you there, my Annabel Lee,
and together we would sail to forgotten places where days gone by were no longer
we would sing winefully in our heads of daze
tired ballads in sad cafes drown in smoke and skin,
some stranger, enraptured by our felicity, would burst in a barely intelligible accent:
“Beautiful couple is beautiful,”
and we would drink with him until the morning light
Roman wine in crystal chalices, that could only get darker with time
we would build our own Kubla Khan, our Bethlehem, our Jerusalem
watching Constantinople burn from our balcony, laughing, holding on tight
I would see my reflection in your tears, and yours in mine
tears we didn’t think we had left, tears we didn’t even understand
when we stood in the ruins of lost civilizations
we would cry — yes we would
we would fall on each other and cry
torrents, waterfalls, hurricanes
and then we would fuck
like mad men, dead men, men clinging to life
we would cry and fuck and cry and cry
we would fill our trembling bodies with stars, with time, our stolen dreams returning
but nothing came true of my imagining
I would always have to be gutted by the cold blade of reality
nothing occurred as fantasies.
You couldn’t wait for me, my poor Annabel Lee
you said we were bags of bones dragging through an unknowing life
skeletons dancing on a soundless xylophone, aching, breaking
you were lonely, you were scared, and I was not there
you took the river bottom, and so I took the pills
“End it all” – we said. “Nevermore” – we chanted
we moved lightly once we lived and quietly we would go
with words collected and thoughts rained down
we were never here, we’re not now.