callin myself back from under the spell

you will disappear.
or maybe you already have.
and maybe i have too
because we are part of
this thing called, "the world,"
stuck in this thing called,
"life."

people.
relationships.

the process:
particles becoming unglued.
swirling in the wind.
bored and disconnected
with the properties of
gravity and attraction.
scattered unaware
of how sorry
they are for themselves
and what they've seen.

just killing time, while
we wait for the fire.
sinking in silence,
pretending nothing's wrong,
since we haven't figured out
the words to describe it.

too busy with our toys,
the present, and our histories
cutting

the pull.

drifting helplessly
along
in the path of fate.
living free?
always searching for
right words,
or actions,
before
a deep breath,
swallowing,
then walking away.
maybe out of
habit or addiction.

doing nothing.

because something's
missing that
we can never define,
which would make our lives
complete, or at least bearable.
replaced by a nervous bug
or twitch telling us how to live.

so we stretch open until it hurts
always binding our time for
a set of shifty observant eyes
giving
the second opinion we've
been wanting to hear.
thinking,"not much longer now,"
until it becomes
a useless personal mantra,
said because so many universes
have burnt out in the meantime.

there's nothing left to hope for,
nothing left to say,
and no time to say it.
"it's only a matter of time."
"it's only a matter of time."

it's only a matter of time
until everything disappears:
you,
me,
all our memories,
other's memories of us,
all the people, places, and things
we have touched in life
(together and separately),
words of wisdom,
all the way down to
the final,
most minute
particles of matter.

but who am i to say?

i'm just another cynical smack filled
homeless lazy-boy professor with
a college degree, a broken head,
and an occupation as
a late night pizza delivery driver
drowning in radio silence,
tied down with the words
sewed into my skin by your tongue
creating promises that lock me
into an immovable position.

i am a trustworthy
person listening to what
you and other people have
to say, believing and caring about it,
which never makes any sense
to me.

i just have one question as we go through this,
when will you be through with me?

i'd like to know.
because i'll donate
whatever shit i have
left to anyone
who wants it.
...

cj + mv

cj: when i stare into your eyes and you stare back into mine, i don't just see the surface, i see the galaxies they hide. and for those fleeting moments, i know not of gruesome thoughts, but rather of the cosmos-- the stars your eyes have caught. it's as if you swallowed the night just to take my breath away. the universe is endless and my feelings are the same. striking depths of space i see and its your eyes that provide this view. what do you think while you search mine? all i think is "i love you."

+

mv: when i look into your eyes, i see a dream that i have had since i was a child, but never remembered until now. before i met you, the dream was a nightmare, because it was what i always wanted, someone to hold, kiss, and understand me. someone to talk to. the face was blurred. and every morning when i woke up i would be alone in a bed, on a couch, or on the floor. by myself. the feeling. and memory would dissipate. i would go through the motions of the day, smiling, and laughing masks hiding thoughts of lead bouncing around my cranium. medicine got me through, but never cured the problem, or satisfied. this was my daily routine for over twenty years. there were false dawns, but in reality it was still night; just fires burning on the horizon. when i looked into your eyes i remember that dream. the dream became reality. the reality was love. but those twenty some years have had side affects, and i need to recover cause i'm sick and losing my grip due to moisture that has built up on my hand holds. but when i look into your eyes i want to recover. i feel the strength rush back into my arms and fingers, which helps me climb to the summit so i can be with you. to hold you and love you. to give you the world embedded in a gold ring. and ask you to spend the rest of your life with me. when i look into your eyes, my dream is fully realized.

if every day is like today then wake me up tomorrow (prologue) {rough draft and to be continued}

last night you told
me, "we need to talk."
as we drove
back to my aunt's
house up
luzerne mountain.
in the darkness,
my mind was
a rung out washcloth
that was already starting
to become cold.
i lit a cigarette,
and told you,
"can we talk tomorrow?
please i just need one day,
one day without stress,
and bullshit. i'm sorry,
but i just need a day.
one day, cause i don't
think i can take a
serious discussion today.
it's just too much.
every day is just too much.
i just need a break."
standing at the edge
of a cliff kicking rocks
into free fall with
the tips of my sneakers,
i thought putting it
off would coax me
away from the ledge,
but the world keeps spinning.
i couldn't see your
face. i was blind.
i didn't even know
you were standing right
behind me;
i thought you were
still in the car.
you quietly said,
"okay."
i was deaf.
i heard you,
but missed
the sadness sewn into
that one word.

okay.


when we got home,
i smoked a g-bong,
then a cig out of
my bedroom window,
as you were by
yourself in bed
on the computer.
after i finished smoking,
i ate a bowl of cereal,
and laid down next to
you.
tired,
we decided to watch cartoons,
instead of having sex.
i kissed you goodnight,
and passed out next to
you, in your arms
because there is
always tomorrow.

tomorrow.
tomorrow
we were driving to philly
to get your stuff
so you could move out.
tomorrow
was going
to be one day closer
to moving into
an apartment in vermont,
getting jobs, getting clean,
swimming in the lake,
paying bills, going on walks,
and grocery shopping together.
tomorrow
i would cook you dinner,
and do the dishes with you.
tomorrow
i would scratch your back,
and use my tongue and lips
to massage your skin.
tomorrow
we would talk
about our past, present, and future.
tomorrow
your hand would still be in mine.
tomorrow
you would still be here,
and we would still be together.
tomorrow
i would be happy
just because you
will be at my side,
and will be there
every tomorrow
after that,
which is
all i need in life.
tomorrow
is exciting,
and i'm looking
forward to it.

my dreams were filled with
fireworks, endorphins,
your naked body in mine,
and your words, in the time between.

tomorrow became today
when i opened my eyes.

you were already awake,
preparing for what i asked you
to put off.
for something
i had completely forgot about
when i was unconscious:
the talk.

my mind isn't a rung out washcloth anymore;
it is a tea kettle filled with water,
and your words are the flame.
the water comes to a boil,
and the whistling sound
never stops.

i am on my side
with my back towards you
as you wrap your arms around me.

"we need to talk..."
is never the start
to anything good.

your voice sounds like
a piano that is out of tune.
shaky, nervous, and sad.

tomorrow is now today,
and tomorrow is unpredictable,
and never goes as planned.

"first, i just want to say
i love you, and always will.
you are everything to me, mv.
you are my life, my soul, my world,
my happiness. i never thought i would
love anyone until i met you. i want
to spend the rest of my life with you,
and be with you forever,
but,
right now this isn't going to work out."

i am back on the ledge with
one foot ready to put its
weight down on thin air.
ready for my body to follow.

you grip me tighter,
as the tears start to metabolize
in the corners of my eyes.

"i can't go to vermont.
i can't stay here with you any more.
this just isn't going to work.
you can't keep supporting me;
it isn't practical.
and i can't just run from my problems.
i talked to my mom yesterday.
she talked to my p.o.,
and she's not going to put me in jail.
if i go back to philly,
they are going to put me into a program to get clean,
i have a job set up that is going to pay really well,
and my mom said she's going to send me $100 a week
if i do what i have to do, and stick with it."

the whistling sound gets louder and louder
inside of my head and there is no way to stop it.

the dam breaks and the tears start cascading
down my face into my pillow.
i keep my eyes closed;
i don't want to remember the visuals
of this moment in time.

"plus, i have to go to those court dates,
and take care of that whole situation
with my roommate after she robbed me.
it's just not going to work,
no matter how much we want it to.
we can't just hope that will get jobs,
and be able to support ourselves,
pay off our debts, and make it.
i want it to, but it's not.
when we go to philly today,
we are not getting my stuff.
you're just going to drop me off,
and go back home.
if you still want to go to vermont, you can.
i'll try to come and visit once a month,
but i can't go.
or you can stay here, and i'll visit as much
as i can. or you can look
for a place in philly because after my roommate
robbed me, my landlord won't allow anyone else live here.
we can make it work.
it's going to be hard,
but we can do it.
i have never loved anyone as much as i love you,
but like i said, i need to do this."

i start to shake, as the tears
and pain come faster and faster.
i wipe the snot dripping from my nose
into my spaceman sheets,
trying to pretend that this isn't real,
even though i can't escape the fact that it is.
i am not a magician.
and don't know any miracle workers.

"no matter what i love you.
please don't forget that.
please don't stop loving me."

you are crying now too,
still holding me in your arms.
trying to hold me together,
even though i'm completely falling apart.
shutting down.
this is what hurt.
this is what pain feels like.
riding a bike with
a collapsed lung is nothing
compared to this.

"so what do you have to say?
what are you thinking?"

silence.

minutes pass, that feel like years.

i am in total freefall,
watching the ledge i was standing
on with you grow smaller and smaller,
farther and farther away,
waiting for the impact.

more time passes.

at this point we are both crying
as much as two human bodies can.

"please just say something."

your words have dissolved my tongue,
all that comes out of my mouth is hot moist air.

"i need to take a shower."
is another way of saying
i need to leave.
i need to get out of here.
so i grab my keys, wallet,
and a fist full of drugs
while i'm in the bathroom,
and turn the shower on.
i look at myself in the mirror,
and see the shattered visions
of the future i planned
in the reflection of my eyes.
it resembles the half eaten corpse
of a decaying elephant
dead in the tall green grass of the serengeti
being consumed
by vultures and flies.

i tried to escape out of the other bathroom door
that leads into the hall,
and avoids the bedroom entirely,
but you opened the bathroom door
and walked in before i got out.
shit.
i was caught. 
but it didn't matter.
nothing mattered.
shut down.
and numb to the world.

"are you seriously going to leave right now?"

i can't even look you in the eyes.
i can't communicate my reasoning,
how i feel, or what i'm thinking.
i can't even say yes or no.

so i just leave.
i leave without saying a word or where i'm going.
i leave without my phone because phones are useless in times like this.
i leave you standing in the bathroom
crying hysterically in the unknown.

i run down stairs, still in my pajamas,
grey penn state sweatpants and a yellow t-shirt,
hop into my car, snort a line, drive five minutes
down the road to frances slocum state park,
and heading for the solitude of the woods.

if every day is like today, then wake me up tomorrow

my first response to waking up,
is closing my eyes.

i know the potential is there
to get out of bed,
to explore the surface of the earth,
to make french toast and sausage,
to expand my vocabulary,
to clean the dirt off my skin and brush my teeth,
to make money,
to clean my bedroom,
to drive two hours down 476 to 76 to oregon ave to you,
to have fun,
to love and feel loved,
to feel fulfilled,
to be content,
happy,
excited for the next sunrise, sunset,
and the time in between;
instead i choose motionlessness.
unconsciousness.
numbness.
i choose to do nothing.
i choose to dream.

i've become immune to alarm clocks,
and the pinging sound my phone makes
when it receives a text message from
someone who wants to hang out with me.  

my veins are filled with mud.
my brain and heart are dead batteries.
that i haven't figured out how to replace,
and i can't afford new ones
so i'm stuck with what i got.
stuck in this situation:
under the covers,
and shivering from an overdose
of air conditioning,
and the presence of your ghost
trying to coax me out
from under the white drywall sky,
loneliness of this room.
and into the sun.
into your warm arms.

panic attack june 2, 2014 4:52am

right now,
in my mind,
you're
dead
with a needle
stuck in your
arm.
skin
pale blue
eyes still
open.

i'm going
to the bathroom
to puke,
and curl up
in a ball
on the
sand colored
square floor tiles,
as i watch my
phone until
i can't keep
my eyes open.

recycling bodily fluids

there is no easy way around it;
someone is going to suffer.

spitting up blood and vital organs
(lungs, heart, brain,)
i pick them off
the soot swirled
concrete basement floor,
and try to brush the dirt
back onto the ground,
but their pink/red skin
is moist and sticky.

i swallow.

the dirt becomes mud,
becomes part of them,
becomes part of me.

i soak the fluids up
with paper towels, q-tips, and circular motions,
then ring them out back into
my mouth.

the translucent crimson droplets
pool, and swish across my tongue.

gritty and bitter.

i swallow.
and try to disinfect my thoughts
with turpentine.

it's not working.

Keeping Pressure On Open Wounds That Are Insecure

you can't see it,
but my throat
has been slit
numerous times:
layers of scar tissue
built up
layer
after
layer
split open
like broken threads
of string
cut open
with a pair of orange handled scissors
frayed.
covered with
a brown wool scarf
my mother
crocheted for me,
the first time she used
her hands
those delicate slender hands.
a christmas gift
keeping pressure
on open wounds
that are insecure;
they have the potential
to become
fatal.
blood soaking into
the fabric
turning it
crimson
more floods out
turning it maroon,
i take it off.
you can examine
the decaying words
lodged in my throat.
but i don't know
if i'll ever remove it.
my shaky hands show
i'm scared and nervous.

unspoken words remain unspoken

you are there.

i am here.

here is the middle
never visited.
(if you ask, "is this about me?" i will never admit to it.)


blood and puss suppurates
out of the lacerations
on my arms
even though they are already
scarred over.
it contains the toxins
created by
the pictures hanging on the walls
on the inside of my skull.
true love has never been fully realized.
the ideas are coated
with dust and mold;
cotton colored skin
has started to turn
gangrenous.

dead leaves
fixated in mud
and clothed in ice.
inactive.
paralyzed.
frozen.

the words sit in my mouth
like unused vomit
coming up from the stomach.
i swallow due to
nervousness.
shaky hands.
sweaty palms.
what's unspoken remains unspoken.

pull the zipper
sticking out from my forehead.
examine the synapses
and wrinkled contours of my brain.

when i asked you to leave
with me,
i was serious.

i would build
you
a house made out of
fuzzy blankets
and soft pillows,
different shapes, colors, patterns, and styles.
warm.
and insulated.

i would wrap you
in myself
if you ever started to shiver.
but i'm afraid of
squeezing you too tight;
closing your windpipe
unintentionally.

i know.
i know.
i know.
this is inappropriate.

you don't really need me;
i'm not a luxury.

i am as important as
a spat of used bubblegum
cemented to the concrete sidewalk.
bright pink
hardened
and
flecked with particles of dirt.

i apologize in advance
for getting stuck to your shoe.

i apologize in advance
for getting under your fingernails.

i'm sad.
i'm lonely.
i'm sorry.

that

you are here.

i am there.

and this is 

the middle

never visited.

the way it always works out

there is
always
a space
between
you
and
me.