g.r.i.e.v.i.n.g.

 I used to do this kind of thing a lot.

Put on some sad music, pour my soul into a piece of the internet I called home, thinking somewhere, someone might read it. If you were that kind of guy, that kind of person who still reachs into the depths of the underworld, sometimes, occasionally, to feel the brush of another set of fingertips.

I have felt for yours.

I think I'm looking for my twin in pain; if not my soulmate, just a woundmate. Someone to stroke the chords that sting in this set of bones. That you might know just how my soul screams...It's done a lot of screaming this year. Can I tell you? A part of me leans on God...but the other part, the kind that stirs in moments like these...says justice is fake

Can't belive in karma 

If that, then we would deserve what we get. And you don't. You don't deserve it. Not this time.

You are that young guy, with his fingers stumbling over guitar chords, singing off key and beautifully, in his dorm room freshman year. I remember always thinking things went perfectly for you. While I was struggling, in loss, to put food in my belly, to absolve myself of guilt...you were just growing up. We haven't been real friends since we were kids I think, yellow jerseys playing on the same soccer team. Comparing heights, comparing minds, comparing hearts. Who was better at art, at school, at sports, at life. Maybe the narrative I told myself that set us apart is just the story I tell myself to forgive the distance time has grown between us. 

Can you ever be so unlike your blood? We share

50% of our DNA

a sardonic sense of humor

and 28 years of memories

God I hope there are more. You deserve, more. Stop me grieving what's not yet gone. 

early birde.

Something about being profoundly lonely. I saw a man die today and I didn't think it affected me until I lay down and looking at the sky from six feet up something just broke. Sometimes it does that. And there's no one to talk to about that.

You deserved better.

What do you do
When you fuck up
And realize you're not a good person
Say you are sorry
Let the axe fall
And watch as your head rolls away.

winter.

I wish that phone call was not the last time we had spoken.
I was walking home in the dark after a shift; you were calling at a bad time. I said something stupid. True, but stupid. You were always so sensitive. One wrong word and you'd turn the house upside down. You hung up on me.

I think a part of me felt obligated to talk to you that night after you stuck your head into that lawnmower. A substantial suicide threat and the world would tumble at your feet. Were you that manipulative? Or just sick.

I think about you every day. It's the kind of thing I can talk about now. But I listen to our songs when I want to feel close. And it still hurts. First love's wintery bows, long dead, can still crack the silence when broken.

This tome is really just a montage to you. Scattered with musings of other lovers. But mostly you. It's where I keep you, because there is no place for you now in my life. It's a sad thing, but I wish you read it. So you would know I care, despite the silence and space. And if you needed me, really needed me,

I would be right there at your feet.

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.