... days ago
Ditch my insides to run for smokes.
Back under my bridge for a second time after and that Somali kid on his bike is fucking staring at me. Smiles when I look up I look back down to finish the line and hold his awareness until finally he peddles off. Gone from directly beneath me now, there's a herd of them on their bikes, boys/girls, teens surrounding my perch in the underpass. It's cold here and everyone's yelling.
It's been a long time since I've felt as alone without having that unfortunate side-effect of loneliness. Every interest in turn passed off to friends without need for self-gratification on the subject. Nice in its way.
Then the memories come back like interjections of broken glass. In those moments an honest hate pops up like I wish for certain occurrences to unfold. Give me a knife, anything small, and let me see him one more time.
And then it's gone.
Stop fucking staring at me.
Gotta get out from underneath this bridge. My hands can't hold the pen anymore. Gusts come up and frozen rain pelts the bushes and trees that have grown green in a premature way. No one saw it coming. The kids are gone.
A father walks by with a stroller full of kid and an umbrella. The image of a man in a suit and top hat holding a balloon walking solitary through a row of trees stumbles through my thoughts as if it shouldn't. Get up walk out re-enter.
Sister comes out to me, the kid isn't sleeping. Argue my points and she counters and I come back for more. Quiet like I don't want to be. Keep the peace.
Gather laundry hoping to get some time to write while I'm waiting. And it'll get me out of the apartment without much hassle. Again I ditch.
Crossing the bridge again, the cops pulled over some nondescript blue vehicle toward the end. There's a certain terror in walking by and I won't explain it. And I lower my head look forward keep walking
CRASH!
... all the cars on the other side screeching to a halt. Two full lanes of traffic stopping. I don't exactly know how that feels. Apparently I'm not that stupid to dart out into traffic taking on two full lanes of cars without enough time to get by in front of a police car with its lights on. Go figure.
At the laundromat I overfill a machine and its motor explodes. Dipping my hand into water dyed grey by three pairs of brand new black socks and it's resting shy of scalding. Turning my windburned hands from pink to a soft red. Water all over the floor. Everyone wondering what the fuck. My copy of Modern Drunkard looking highly suspicious understandably.
I'm blocked.
Every turn is blocked.
*
i won't expect you to understand this:
lyrics
"the only girl i've ever loooooooooooooooved...
"was born with roses in her eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyes...
"until they buried her alive
"one evening 1945."
that first line, over and over...
"the only girl i've ever loved."
gets broken by my boss asking me, "So she married her ex-boyfriend?"
i look and i think, "... fuck." but i say, "What are you talking about?"
"Or was it the drummer?" and now i'm completely confused. but this is all based on a previous conversation i'd had with my boss about gwen stefani. but wow...
"and now we must pack up every piece
"of the life we used to love
"but we keep ourselves at least enough so we can carry on..."
Ditch my insides to run for smokes.
Back under my bridge for a second time after and that Somali kid on his bike is fucking staring at me. Smiles when I look up I look back down to finish the line and hold his awareness until finally he peddles off. Gone from directly beneath me now, there's a herd of them on their bikes, boys/girls, teens surrounding my perch in the underpass. It's cold here and everyone's yelling.
It's been a long time since I've felt as alone without having that unfortunate side-effect of loneliness. Every interest in turn passed off to friends without need for self-gratification on the subject. Nice in its way.
Then the memories come back like interjections of broken glass. In those moments an honest hate pops up like I wish for certain occurrences to unfold. Give me a knife, anything small, and let me see him one more time.
And then it's gone.
Stop fucking staring at me.
Gotta get out from underneath this bridge. My hands can't hold the pen anymore. Gusts come up and frozen rain pelts the bushes and trees that have grown green in a premature way. No one saw it coming. The kids are gone.
A father walks by with a stroller full of kid and an umbrella. The image of a man in a suit and top hat holding a balloon walking solitary through a row of trees stumbles through my thoughts as if it shouldn't. Get up walk out re-enter.
Sister comes out to me, the kid isn't sleeping. Argue my points and she counters and I come back for more. Quiet like I don't want to be. Keep the peace.
Gather laundry hoping to get some time to write while I'm waiting. And it'll get me out of the apartment without much hassle. Again I ditch.
Crossing the bridge again, the cops pulled over some nondescript blue vehicle toward the end. There's a certain terror in walking by and I won't explain it. And I lower my head look forward keep walking
CRASH!
... all the cars on the other side screeching to a halt. Two full lanes of traffic stopping. I don't exactly know how that feels. Apparently I'm not that stupid to dart out into traffic taking on two full lanes of cars without enough time to get by in front of a police car with its lights on. Go figure.
At the laundromat I overfill a machine and its motor explodes. Dipping my hand into water dyed grey by three pairs of brand new black socks and it's resting shy of scalding. Turning my windburned hands from pink to a soft red. Water all over the floor. Everyone wondering what the fuck. My copy of Modern Drunkard looking highly suspicious understandably.
I'm blocked.
Every turn is blocked.
*
i won't expect you to understand this:
lyrics
"the only girl i've ever loooooooooooooooved...
"was born with roses in her eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyes...
"until they buried her alive
"one evening 1945."
that first line, over and over...
"the only girl i've ever loved."
gets broken by my boss asking me, "So she married her ex-boyfriend?"
i look and i think, "... fuck." but i say, "What are you talking about?"
"Or was it the drummer?" and now i'm completely confused. but this is all based on a previous conversation i'd had with my boss about gwen stefani. but wow...
"and now we must pack up every piece
"of the life we used to love
"but we keep ourselves at least enough so we can carry on..."
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
xaqary is cummin' for ya.
boner= 3====================D
how ever-so sweet.