i don't belong here anymore. 

oh what a charming sight.

you've always struck me as someone charming.

eloquent words and your gestures with hands.

i've got plans to tell the whole world

through guitar strings and microphone stands.

you see, i've had this crazy idea

that you and I would grow old in time

this idea's drifted through my head

it's all i've thought of for quite some time

i sit and dream in this lazy taxi

creeping it's way through crowded streets

and there's a ticket in my front coat pocket

to take me east  so we don't have to see...

and you'll be trapped inside this box here

i've taped the windows and nailed the doors

and you'll be trapped for another full year

searching for loose boards in the floors.

"you've gotta let this go now"

a phrase i've heard too many times

cause i've become so damn attached now

i've committed my imperfect crime

and now the wind is screaming

telling me to be divine

to "let this all go, briskly

and then you can have that piece of mind."

but i can see your breath now

drifting away into the darkened sky

littered with carbon, pain, and oxide

twisting up, and resembling mine

our voices clench each other

in a struggle for their rightful place

to reach each others earlobes 

they battle fearless in this empty space.

and i can tell you're freezing.

your nose will always sell you out

you start to say you're fine though,

i know you're drowning and you can't get out.

being blind.

it's back to the trite days that i'm too used to. it's back to the 6 am wake up calls after never ever getting enough sleep. it's back to back to back mind numbing sessions that we all call classes. it's time to return to the hallways, fluorescents, and dead teenagers. it happens too often that i taste a snippet of the succulent outside world but am then told that it's only one sample per customer, sir. it's too common that my wings grow back but are then made to resemble bloody stumps. it's back to the nightmare that's lasted far too long. too soon will my fingertips remember the feel of cold shiny metal, warm freshly copied paper, and the indents on desks that i've made in response to the chronic boredom fed to me 5 days a week for the past 6 or 7 months. hooray. it's back to seeing their faces around every corner. it's back to smiling when i'm everything but happy. don't you recall how you avoided stares in the halls? how i avoid your stares?

can't you remember all the boos you've read? all the pages you've turned and all of the ink made to look like little letters leaping from leaflets? haven't you ever wondered why the world you live in is nothing like the one in all of those books? you've noticed. you've more than noticed, you've strived to stay away from those fairy tales because you know that they can never happen.

i can see that wild hair whipping around your head, thanks to the december air. your fingers attempting to grab hold of it and pull it out of your beautiful blue eyes. i can see that sad face of yours staring at mine from the doorway of your home. your bare toes tap on the aged wooden floor and snap because you are as nervous as i am. i can hear my voice quiver and crack while it escapes from my throat and tells you to not be sorry and not to be afraid. (even while i am both of those.) i can see the dashboard of your car because i stared at it rather than you when we fought. i can still see everything.

a congregation

there was a strange quiet that had surfaced after a moment or two. the slow creeping pitter patter of footsteps emerged from behind locked doors, as fingers wrapped around chipped wooden frames. eyes met each other from across the street as they made their stares down the stairs and over the gutters. they made contact shortly after they had memorized the littered street... or rather, what was left of it. debris had fallen atop the vehicles that lined the asphalt one way and then the other. the metal was so commonplace on any other day. any other day but today... today it seemed so distracting and out of place. so strange to see metal beneath brick and drywall and all of that pink and yellow ventilation. all the people cautiously stole footing toward the cluttered street and the murmuring began. "what was it?", they asked. "was it another terrorist attack?", floated around from head to head. everyone pondered these questions as their attention was taken upward in anticipation to the sky. that beautiful sky... it was dyed a deep deep purple with astronomical streaks of sanguine. they blew up the big picture and were found for what seemed like every inch of the sky. the gaze toward the heavens was given by every onlooker that crowded the already crowded street. it was possibly some sad attempt to stop what was obviously inevitable. a faint whistle groped its way through the atmosphere and felt its way around to the people's ears like a blind man feeling his way down an empty corridor. there was only one way to head, it was truly inescapable. 

the high pitched falling floated around their heads and slowly pounded ear drums as if being beaten slowly... lovingly... rhythmically... as ghastly as a funeral procession. 

serenity draped over the eyes of the worried human beings like a warm blanket and extinguished their fears as they realized what they saw. and that was all that they needed.

a stroll to the pharmacy.

i could escape here... couldn't i? i could take some of the things that i own and put them in drawers. wouldn't that make them my drawers? la la la la. it's possible.
truly, i'm not sure what i'm capable of these days. i know i can break a heart, i can tell a lie, and i know that i can screw up big time; although... most anyone could do that if they wanted to.

i can take a stroll around the corner to the pharmacy. i can shove my hands in my pockets pretending that they're cold. but what is it really? am i hiding them because my skin is a picture book of who i used to be?
are these burns a constant reminder of what not to do?

my skin holds secrets in every little crack. every pore expels a piece of my past. the day that my "grandfather" was thrown out to sea. the memory of meeting him a month beforehand for the first time. the feeling of me not being sorry that he was dead. the pit in my stomah watching everyone else cry as i tried to force something to sneak past my iris. i didn't even know the old bastard. the cancer slowly ate him away, but i had nothing and no one to mourn for. not even these hands. not even the cache crawling out of my skin and finding it's way onto the new york streets. not the secrets and memories and love notes that wander around the sewers intimidating alligators.

we dressed in black.
we were more than casual.
his face was reflected on the black urn but the fluorescent bulbs.
no one there knew his real name.

let's get going.

jimmy, you might as well be dead.
he deflated a long, long time ago with that red balloon.

happy birthday jimmy. stop running.

hello, my name is christopher.

the truth of the matter is that i just don't understand. all those words that you said to me, i've tried to deconstruct them and i've tried to understand what you meant by them and so far, i can only comprehend what i think you meant. perhaps it's as far as i'll get.

everyone else either deeply understands our condition or they're merely faking it. if they do happen to understand, why can't I? they're not even involved in it and they get it. am I that blind? where i can't see what's in front of me? am i that old already? i have to confess though; from all of the phone calls that i've made to you in the past, for all the letters that still reside in my desk drawer, and for all of my apologies..

they are all true.

i pretend to be alright in the sunlight, and i pretend to thrive under clouds. you know... when the water floods to earth as if to escape some chamber that i has been held up in for ages? it flees to earth as quickly as i do from your line of sight.

in a few days i'm going to board a plane, and i'm sure that as i step across that gap between the jet and its walkway i'm going to be scared. i will be frightened but i will also be more than eager to get as far away from this place to see where i might live for the next 4 years of my little life. funny how i was dying to come home to you months ago. but you'll probably never see that part of me again. that part of me that rushed into your arms in front of camille's home. the part that held you for what felt like minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years. god i held you so tightly. i can still remember you looking at me from the top of her porch. just staring at me in silence wondering if it was really me, as if i had been lost forever. as if you'd seen my face in the crowd a million times and had learned not to get your hopes up. but it was me, and you ran. you ran so quickly to my arms. god i missed you.

you will most likely never read this, as it isn't quite intended for you to read. except for that last part about us seeing each other for the first time in a measly 7 days. however, if you do manage to trace its content i'm sure you will be a bit confused. you might even tell yourself to disregard it because you're over me.  but do we ever really get over anyone? or do we simply make our best effort in forgetting them? i've come to terms with the idea that i won't ever get over you, or have you again. it's okay if you can't do it either. we don't have to be in love, or love simply love each other. just don't beat yourself up about it. i've stopped. for the most part.

i keep looking for something to hold onto. something stronger than strong, and all the while i tell myself that i'm simply not cut out for this but yet i still continue to look. i'll keep looking and searching and rummaging through the packs of people hailing taxi cabs and yelling obscenities at television screens because their quarter back just missed the big kick. i don't know if i'll ever find someone. perhaps someone who is a cumulative of everyone i've ever loved? is that too much to ask for? maybe. maybe i just watched too many disney movies as a kid.

it's okay i keep telling myself. but i'm sure that like you, i have found out that most of the time it's not okay. i reach at straws and look desperate, but at times i just can't help myself. i'm so feeble at times, wanting love so badly but when i pull back i realize that there isn't a chance in hell that i could handle love.

you told me yourself that you loved me. you told me that you were in love with me. it made me feel so grown up. i knew you meant it. i had to ask if you regretted it, and you said no. it was such a surprise to me that night on the beach. it was one of our more cinematic moments as i recall. i was holding you in the sand. if my memory serves me correctly, we had been kissing a bit. you looked at me and told me, "i hope this doesn't creep you out or anything". how could it? i was so in love with you. i'd been waiting forever to hear it from your lips. you were so afraid i wouldn't feel the same. i didn't say anything for a moment, purely because i wanted to soak in the words. you approached love so strangely. 

then i hurt you.

let me tell you, as much as intentional as it seemed, i did not. it was not easy to watch myself destroy what we had built. and truth be told, i have absolutely no reasoning for it which i suppose in a way would make me insane. i'm so sorry that i hurt you. and i know that because of what i've done it will be more than difficult for you to ever trust someone new. 

i'm sorry.

you spoke to me tonight. you started up a conversation with me on the internet and we talked for a while. we spoke about current events in both of our lives and we hinted at things that happened while we dated. i liked it. maybe because i haven't talked to you in a month or two. i've lost track. but you did tell me that if we both end up going to school on the east coast, boston to be exact, that i would hit you up in 2011. that scared me. partly because you invited me to call, but also because it will be 2011. we will be adults.

it's the little things cathy. these small things that i blow out of proportion, subconsciously on purpose in order to keep the big things at bay.

don't be afraid. i'll be there, even after i hurt you.

i just hope that someday you'll see me there.

i love you.

this has been me not understanding

i can count her ribs, from our kitchenette window

the past blanketed me while the present dove into my ears eyes and mouth. the regulars with their cool shoes lined up at the door waiting, making small talk. i'd only been there twice and that time was equally as frightening... but for a different reason. if only i could have photographed that momentous occasion. that time when i vomited stories about myself onto the windshield in hopes of avoiding silence replaying the oxygen in the car. audio streamed through my speakers but i wasn't exactly listening. i was more distracted by the memories of car accidents swimming from lips into my ears and paddling up my to my conscious. damn... the city looked beautiful reflected in all that rush hour traffic. horns honking, blinkers flashing, and cameras snapping shots of amusing street signs.

"it should be on the left" 

sure enough.

"she sell. retail. by the CVS. Pharmacy"

i put the old record on the phonograph and let it skip around. she skipped around it. the lights galloped along; they came and went while December did the same. the lanes soon became nothing but chambers. homes for their diesel guzzling inhabitants. every once in a while, the autos could find a loose brick or two in the wall and manage to escape, but only into another home across the way. sooner than not... i was stopping in the street and saying goodnight. stopping in the street and saying goodnight. it won't happen again.

will it?