this might hurt.

You vex me.

You dredge up the past in some simplistic statement and suck me in, spiral down into webpages for a sign of your name, keywords and it's all spina bifida foundation and space: here's to me for remembering how you feel about asteroids and inside jokes.
You remain frustratingly relevant in a world I've built without you, and what I can't fully erase I intend to suppress; a flaming foot stomp on the fuck you I've sent your way so many times.


Fuck you for being interesting. and mysterious. And for sending messages like that, when I find it months later, myself, caught red handed ripping up the past again. At least I know you do, too.

Is there a future? I so enjoy your company. But you always want from me something I cannot give. I feel it, it pulls. Into bad dreams where I wake up shivering, scared, and think, if you were a good man, a really good man, why did I find you there?

Want can pull a man to madness, don't you agree?

this human thing.

When you're barely holding it together, the littlest things can set you off. One thing goes wrong and it' down the rabbit hole again, and you're crying but it's got nothing to do with the trigger. The bullet wound was already there.
I'm not supposed to talk about it. Worst it's embarrassing. Who wants to see a person crumble like this. People don't understand. Today it was a grade, a shitty grade apparently for all the shitty work I've been putting out there. Why are you crying over a grade? It's not the grade. It's the cherry on top of a whole lot of raw emotions. I hate to admit it
but,
I'm more fragile than I thought. I don't know if strong people reach out, but I hide, and the more I hide I go unnoticed, something scattered like a stack of paper that blows away, page by page into the wind. There's a very real part of me that wants to disappear, to melt under the sun and evaporate. Be reborn as mist or wind or a fleeting raindrop and just take the fucking ride...People don't want to hear that. I don't want to say that. So I bring bird feathers back to a damn picture frame and realize my life was build on a house of sticks. One stone and the place falls down.

little one.

LC. My little elsie girl.
Here lies grief, a stubborn old seat in a game of musical chairs, nowhere else to turn. Have I failed you in some way? Reason and emotion argue a tempest inside of me that rages, trying to turn back the clock with its centrifical force. But here I still am, standing still in a world that keeps moving forward. The awkward I'm Sorry's, and mumbled it's okay's. It's old, and I'm tired of it. Like maybe I could just quit and go spend some time catching up to you. Come back to me. I love you. I'm not strong or resilient, I'm not functional. I want to die a happy child in a sea of cats and dogs and horses for family. No good at growing older. Where does your journey take you.
Today you came home in a box and i thought only a year and a half ago you came home on that same passenger seat. If I could change things for you I would. And not to save myself but because you deserved better. You deserved longer. I'm skin and bones and the echoes of the same thoughts that bounce and rebound over the same issues. Grief, the only chair left when your time is up.

All the words in the world don't change the simple fact that you were a cat, and I was a better human with you here.

sampson.

what if I was the one who would have ruined you? It was I who loved you first.

stray.

Like them, I'm a stray. Sniffing garbage cans for scraps and wandering place to place with a smile. Settling for the stripped off bits, your unwanted pieces are my prize. But home is where you are now, and I'm loyal as a dog.

i am jack's festering guilt.

No matter what I've said, it will never be okay. And I've tried getting older but time is blind and the words I find are merely echoes of each other...raising circles on my palms. Still counting, 5 years, your name in the searchbar. Looking for just a clue. The last bits of 2009 strewn about in this head of mine, but the bar blinks back, silent as the dead. I am Jack's festering guilt.