THE DRUNK BOOK PURCHASE
Make it STOP.
we can never go back to before.
“everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.”
do you ever get the feeling of impending doom?
like the second you admit, out loud,
you’re feeling exactly like a quote you read in sixth grade
right after you finished
staring at the back of a boy’s head
wondering if that was the most attractive part of him
or was it the crook of his elbow?
that he liked to bend and say,
look closely it’s a buttcrack!
and buttcrack was the nastiest funniest word his beautiful
young mouth could say
or the left corner of his kneecap,
that he scraped crabwalking on the playground
the second you admit you’re feeling
what you’re feeling
when you’re really feeling it
it’ll fly away, out from under your feet
like a faulty magic carpet
that shit should come with a manuel
or at least a disclaimer
caution, dreams will be pulled out from under you
like a favorite pair of heels snapping
a hemorrhaged vocal chord the day before an audition
an ocean of tears wasted on that spilled milk lover
a rip in that ancient sweater your grandpa gave you
the list goes on
and so does the day
everyone’s so focused on the sun fading they don’t notice
the way the haze makes
you
look
so
perfect
do you ever get that feeling of impending doom?
like no matter which side of the bed you wake up on
your feet will still be cold when they hit the floor
and that bowl of oatmeal will still be fossilizing in the windowsill
and your mom probably will call you
but your best friend won’t
is it normal to be terrified of buying a new pair of shoes?
because i’m past the age where i’ll grow out of them
instead i’ll wear them to a raveling
like girls do to nice guys
and nice guys do to lovely boys
and lovely boys do to church goers
and church goers do to heaven sent heathens
and heathens do to trees
trees become the canopy to many a piece of art
many a peace of mind
many a remembrance of some romantic moment you didn’t live
but definitely saw in a movie
i just have the great big gaping cosmic comic crushing feeling
of
imminent endings and immortal emory boards
this feeling that everything’s important i just don’t have
the filing cabinet to place them in the right order
this feeling of forgetting not names or places or leg cramps
but eye colors and skin temperatures and promises i made to you
i will never be eleven again
you will never be asleep in your mother’s arms again
we’re all too big to wish to be hidden
we’re all to old to wish to held
do you ever get this feeling of impending doom?
like tomorrow will definitely come
and there’s nothing we can do to stretch these seconds over anymore
naked thoughts
i’m ticking away at naked thoughts.
