THE ANGELS WATCH OVER ME WE ARE ONE AND THE SAME. I
HAVE THE EYES OF AN ANGEL. I NOTICE EVERYTHING. I CRANE
MY HEAD BACK TO LOOK AT THE CEILING AND I NOTICE THE WAY
THE WOOD CARVING IS PERFECTLY HUGGING THE CURVES TO
CREATE THE APPEARANCE OF A STRAIGHT LINE IN
CONJUNCTION WITH MOVEMENT. I HAVE ALWAYS, WILL ALWAYS,
BE THIS WAY. I TAKE A PIECE AND A PAINTING WITHIN MY MIND.
LIFE IS SPECIAL TO ME I AM A HOARDER OF SMALL DETAILS, I
READ THE PEN DRAWINGS ON YOUR HAND AND I SIT IN THE CAR
AND THE WARM AIR BLASTS IN NEGATIVE 20 DEGREES AND IT
FEELS LIKE SUMMER TO ME, IT IS ALWAYS THERE FLUTTERING
UNDERNEATH THE SLEEPING WINTRY DEN OF MY
SUBCONSCIOUS,I AM ALWAYS DRIVING AND THE WINDOWS ARE
DOWN AND THE ROAD IS LONG AND THE POWER LINES ARE
ALWAYS BUZZING, NO ONE IS OUT AT 11 HERE, I AM THE ONLY
ONE AND THIS IS SPECIAL TO ME AND TO ME ONLY, I WAKE UP
DISORIENTED I AM IN FIVE PLACES AT ONCE MY ROOM FOLLOWS
THE CURVED AND INTIMATE BONE STRUCTURE OF MY HIP IT IS
FILLED WITH DIRT AND FERNS AND THE TEMPERATURE IS
AMBIENT AND I WAKE UP FOR ONE MORE DAY, WORKING THE
PHRASE IN MY HEAD OVER UNTIL IT’S SMOOTH LIKE A STONE AT
THE BOTTOM OF THE CREEK BEHIND THE HOUSE I DIDN'T GROW
UP IN, MY PRIVATE SONG TO GOD, ONE MORE DAY, I DON'T
KNOW ANYTHING AND I LOVE YOU
it’s dark outside and the air is warm and breathing into my ear. my elbow
is tucked onto the edge of my open window, and the road i’m on is
sloping gently up and down like the curve of a hip. there’s an incessant
pressure from the arms of my glasses imbedding into the soft area
above my ear. the road is going uphill and a small black dog runs in front
of my headlights. i scream because it shocks me, but then because it
terrifies me. i park the car on the incline and turn on the emergency
lights, creep out of the car. my dim phone flashlight is swallowed by the
dense velvet of the surrounding forest. my footsteps are muffled by the
damp asphalt except for the scraping of the gravelly mud against the
soles. i see the silhouette of the little dog scamper down the road and
then watch sort of helplessly as the final glint of the heart shaped collar
tag gets swallowed by the darkness.
last wednesday i booked a greyhound ticket to somewhere warm and
not-here, and by 6:47pm today i’m going to be gone. it’s my last day
here, but i haven’t told anyone. my alarm is going off but i’ve been half
sleeping since 3. i carefully packed all of my green brown blue black
clothes in a reusable aldi bag, then stowed it into my trunk late at night
with no one noticing. in a plastic bag sits all of my notebooks, drawings,
letters, notes, and all of everyone else’s too. i am still deciding what to
do with it. i’m sitting on a wet concrete curb across the street smoking a
camel blue for breakfast. the cold is biting me back; my lungs feel
swollen and aching with every single breath. i am examining my palms
and each fingernail. i am rehearsing my memories before i forget.
this morning we were on your couch in your basement and in my bed in
my room cross country and it was warm and i was on your lap and we
were melting into each other. i felt like bath water and we were face to
face and i could feel your breath on my cheek and i exercised an
enormous amount of restraint. i’ve never wanted something so badly in
my life. i put my arms over your shoulders and i was barely over you and
my face dropped, leaning over yours, hovering, at a standstill,
completely agonizing. i made up my mind and i wasn’t going to do it, i
can’t i can’t i can’t, but then you’re looking up at me and i can read your
face and i can feel it mirroring mine, and i finally release and we’re
centimeters, millimeters, atoms away and then you say to me, quietly,
“do you really want the pressure.”. everything inside of me collapses and
i bury my face in your shoulder and we held each other for what felt like
hours or seconds or minutes or nothing really, because this was a
dream. i wake up and explode.
THE ANGELS WATCH OVER ME WE ARE ONE AND THE SAME. I HAVE THE EYES OF AN ANGEL. I NOTICE EVERYTHING. I CRANE MY HEAD BACK TO LOOK AT THE CEILING AND I NOTICE THE WAY THE WOOD CARVING IS PERFECTLY HUGGING THE CURVES TO CREATE THE APPEARANCE OF A STRAIGHT LINE IN CONJUNCTION WITH MOVEMENT. I HAVE ALWAYS, WILL ALWAYS, BE THIS WAY. I TAKE A PIECE AND A PAINTING WITHIN MY MIND. LIFE IS SPECIAL TO ME I AM A HOARDER OF SMALL DETAILS, I READ THE PEN DRAWINGS ON YOUR HAND AND I SIT IN THE CAR AND THE WARM AIR BLASTS IN NEGATIVE 20 DEGREES AND IT FEELS LIKE SUMMER TO ME, IT IS ALWAYS THERE FLUTTERING UNDERNEATH THE SLEEPING WINTRY DEN OF MY SUBCONSCIOUS,I AM ALWAYS DRIVING AND THE WINDOWS ARE DOWN AND THE ROAD IS LONG AND THE POWER LINES ARE ALWAYS BUZZING, NO ONE IS OUT AT 11 HERE, I AM THE ONLY ONE AND THIS IS SPECIAL TO ME AND TO ME ONLY, I WAKE UP DISORIENTED I AM IN FIVE PLACES AT ONCE MY ROOM FOLLOWS THE CURVED AND INTIMATE BONE STRUCTURE OF MY HIP IT IS FILLED WITH DIRT AND FERNS AND THE TEMPERATURE IS AMBIENT AND I WAKE UP FOR ONE MORE DAY, WORKING THE PHRASE IN MY HEAD OVER UNTIL IT’S SMOOTH LIKE A STONE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CREEK BEHIND THE HOUSE I DIDN'T GROW UP IN, MY PRIVATE SONG TO GOD, ONE MORE DAY, I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING AND I LOVE YOU
it’s dark outside and the air is warm and breathing into my ear. my elbow is tucked onto the edge of my open window, and the road i’m on is sloping gently up and down like the curve of a hip. there’s an incessant pressure from the arms of my glasses imbedding into the soft area above my ear. the road is going uphill and a small black dog runs in front of my headlights. i scream because it shocks me, but then because it terrifies me. i park the car on the incline and turn on the emergency lights, creep out of the car. my dim phone flashlight is swallowed by the dense velvet of the surrounding forest. my footsteps are muffled by the damp asphalt except for the scraping of the gravelly mud against the soles. i see the silhouette of the little dog scamper down the road and then watch sort of helplessly as the final glint of the heart shaped collar tag gets swallowed by the darkness.
last wednesday i booked a greyhound ticket to somewhere warm and not-here, and by 6:47pm today i’m going to be gone. it’s my last day here, but i haven’t told anyone. my alarm is going off but i’ve been half sleeping since 3. i carefully packed all of my green brown blue black clothes in a reusable aldi bag, then stowed it into my trunk late at night with no one noticing. in a plastic bag sits all of my notebooks, drawings, letters, notes, and all of everyone else’s too. i am still deciding what to do with it. i’m sitting on a wet concrete curb across the street smoking a camel blue for breakfast. the cold is biting me back; my lungs feel swollen and aching with every single breath. i am examining my palms and each fingernail. i am rehearsing my memories before i forget. this morning we were on your couch in your basement and in my bed in my room cross country and it was warm and i was on your lap and we were melting into each other. i felt like bath water and we were face to face and i could feel your breath on my cheek and i exercised an enormous amount of restraint. i’ve never wanted something so badly in my life. i put my arms over your shoulders and i was barely over you and my face dropped, leaning over yours, hovering, at a standstill, completely agonizing. i made up my mind and i wasn’t going to do it, i can’t i can’t i can’t, but then you’re looking up at me and i can read your face and i can feel it mirroring mine, and i finally release and we’re centimeters, millimeters, atoms away and then you say to me, quietly, “do you really want the pressure.”. everything inside of me collapses and i bury my face in your shoulder and we held each other for what felt like hours or seconds or minutes or nothing really, because this was a dream. i wake up and explode.
