"between the rhymes"
i showed up to your house, and i was drunk, and sorry
i was hiding between the rhymes, and i wanted to be a line in your face
some lasting impression that would never change as long as you fade
a lost alibi tracing your wisdom
from the day you were born through your descent into destruction
i am a decaying thing, sticky with shit
pouring words onto paper as if they could save a soul
my ransom has been paid but i don't feel well
i'm only a thing resonating into the fears of strangers
i'm a rest stop, a respite from poison, something you can carry, and then discard
encoded in your open wounds are the answers to life's riddles
pick at your scabs and report back to me
tell me how they bleed, tell me how they scream
every inch of life we fight to lie but our bodies fill with cancer and horror
we lisp, and accelerate, forced free, and we're in the open
you can find me hiding between the rhymes
in words that dance dangerously but don't sound like others
you'll find me anywhere, in my headphones with a pen, and a cigarette
i'm going blank, and ambulatory for the sake of someone else
anyone really, who'll sit and stare as i throw, and watch what adheres
Really? How much stuff am I going to wring from the memory of that girl? I had an idea for a "last poem to julia" a couple months ago but for whatever reason couldn't get it down. Now I wish I had. More stuff about dying and decay and writing. This is a fun one. Nothing interesting to talk about with life. Maybe I'll write a non-poetry blog post in a couple days just because.
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