elephants' graveyard

i am on auto pilot;
legs taking tired steps,
pores and wounds
dripping sweat, blood, and lactic acid,
which are absorbed into the earth,
stumbling across dirt, to asphalt,
to sidewalks,  over welcome mats,
across beige tiles, down wooden stairs,
to a carpeted plain, which calloused feet
traverse, until they can't go no more,
and reach the navy blue fabric couch,
where splintered bones, and yellowed skeletons 
are scattered across the floor.

collapse.

my thoughts about the future have changed:

no longer thinking about
how much money
i'll need for cigs, credit card bills,
medicine, rent, fines, new shoes,
and moving to philadelphia.

no longer thinking about
what animal i'll have to kill
or plant i'll have to harvest
because empty stomachs
have stopped crossing my mind.
the same can be said about
personal appearance, and hygiene.

no longer thinking about
what could've been,
or what i could've done.
what doctor or shrink
i could have seen.

no longer thinking about participating.

no longer thinking,
just doing because
different parts
are shutting down
one by one by one.

wheezing, instead of breathing;
my lungs have become frayed nets
that are losing there ability to
capture oxygen
with each passing second.
with each attempted breath.

this is a personal experience,
which is why i have to go
alone, because this legend
is a reality.
it is a well kept secret
that each of us learn through
instinct.

the hazy glow
from a late night
reality tv show
about people competing
to be deep fried food masters
illuminates my mottled
grey skin; this is
the difference between
life and death.

i feel the sinews of my biceps
and the joints in my fingers
snapping like branches
under foot, as i check
my cell phone.

no new messages.
no missed calls.

i realize it's uselessness,
and break it by slamming
it against a wall
watching one utile piece
multiply into many dysfunctional ones.
all different shapes and sizes
now exposed to climate controlled air.
useless.

it's impossible to be perfect all the time.
it's impossible to make good on every promise.
it's impossible to not have regrets.
it's impossible to go back in time.
it's impossible to live forever.
but
it's possible to love.
it's possible to apologize.
it's possible to forgive.
it's possible to not be a shitty person for your entire life.
it's possible to change.
it's possible to live.

as i close my eyes,
i have one last thought:
i see a warm smile
slowly expanding across
your sullen face
that is unable to
stop the tears
tumbling down
your cheeks;
you kiss me on the forehead,
then my right cheek,
and finally on my mouth
with your saline soaked lips.
i wrap your body in my arms,
and squeeze as hard as i can
you into me,
me into you,
meld together
until we become one.

thank you for teaching me the definition
of love, meaning, and happiness
without the use of a dictionary and worksheets.

the wind will erase my footprints,
while the lions, dogs, worms, beetles, and vultures
erase my physical existence,
disassembling my anatomy
one bite at a time.

no one will know what happened to me,
but it won't be a mystery
because
all of us have to die sometime.

An Interpretation For A Lucid Dream Someone Told Me About In A Letter Written On The Coolest Stationary I've Ever Seen.

 

In your dream, you said we were behind the waterfall at world’s end state park, and that the roar of the water was loud enough that we had to cup our hands around the other person’s ear, and speak directly into it.

I wanted to know what we said to each other.

You said you couldn’t hear because you had a bird’s eye view, and can’t control those aspects of your dreams.

But I want to know what you thought we said.

Because here’s what I think:

We are behind the waterfall, and it’s winter.

A sheet of ice has enclosed the ledge we are sitting on—the only opening in the ice is where the flow is.

Looking through the wall of frozen water, distorts our perception of the horizon in front of us causing it to look otherworldly.

The sun hits the sheet, which creates a chandelier like effect on the enclosed ledge behind the waterfall.

Dots of white light are dancing across both of our faces illuminating every color we have to offer.

You lean in, and cup your hands around my ear, putting your mouth in the opening your hands create, “Is it always like this?”

I cup my hands around your ear and do the same, “No. It’s never been enclosed like this. It feels like a little house.”

“We should move in. Just drop everything and live here until we die. Our bodies will be taken downstream like boats on the surface of the water until we assimilate back into nature.”

“The greatest funeral ever.”

There is no entrance or exit, and I can’t explain how we got in, but we don’t feel trapped.

The ice is growing causing the cavity to shrink around us, and starts to include parts of us in it.

It slowly crawls up our boots, and then starts on the rest of our legs.

It doesn’t feel cold, but warm like a blanket.

It feels natural like the skin covering our bodies.

I cup my hand around your ear, “Are you okay with this?”

You cup your hand around my ear, and say, “Yes.”

Relax.

Our fingers interlock and instantly freeze together, fusing into a single body part.

You run your free hand through my hair, as I look into your eyes.

We kiss.

Then I put my head on your shoulder before we listen to the sound of our heartbeats disappear, drowned out by the white noise of the rushing water.

When we thaw out in 700 years, everything and everyone we know will be dead, which means the only responsibilities we will have are each other.

You’re getting up right now, 900 miles away, as I’m falling asleep.

We’ve never met in person, but I hope you read this before you go to work.