sapuchino

[sapuchino]

The heater whirling like a film projector.

The way I always cut like a film director.

The way I scream in a pillow filled with feathers.

The way I can't breathe in this chilled December.

It's my 27th rotation and it's still never better.

[sapuchino]

Kiss me with that tar still on your lips.

The hate you were born from.

The hate I'll swallow and carry in my heart like a womb.

I didn't want a product of something I wish I'd forget.

But I raised this hate like a glass in my sternum.

A china cabinet for a bastard I'd pass for others.

He'll sabotage them with his black eyes and oil skin.

My family and friends will resent me, and you'll smile at me with that tar in your teeth.

The same you bred me with.

Defiled the white feathers in me and told me to fly.

I don't think I ever had a chance to spread my wings.

[sapuchino]

To've travelled this far.

And realize I could have built this emptiness right where I started.

I look up at the sky and see the same moon I saw 5, 10, 20 homes ago.

And realize in the grand scheme of things that I'm not getting anywhere.

I'm in the same moonlight, I'm under the same stars.

And the only time they're all gone, is when I close my eyes.

I want to close my eyes forever.

I want to feel like I've finally moved.

[sapuchino]

Do I remind you of someone you once knew?

Who were they?

And what did they do to make you hate so much?

[sapuchino]

“C'est toujours une étoile inaccessible que nous aimons, et chaque amour est toujours, en son essence intime, une tragédie, – mais qui ne peut produire qu'en cette qualité ses effets immenses et féconds. On ne peut descendre si profondément en soi-même, on ne peut puiser au tréfonds de la vie, là où toutes les forces reposent encore enlacées, tous les contraires encore indifférenciés, sans ressentir aussi en soi-même le bonheur et les tourments, dans leur connexion mystérieuse.”

— Lou Andreas-Salomé, Eros

[sapuchino]

“Je sais et je sens que faire du bien est le plus vrai bonheur que le cœur humain puisse goûter.”

— Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Rêveries du promeneur solitaire 

[sapuchino]

You told me to be patient just to see me in a hospital bed.

Put me in a wheelchair and that steel frame will become part of my carcass.

Lock the door and let me freeze.

I'd thrown up in my lap just to feel something warm.

What you'd never given me.

You're my tapeworm that'd rather eat me than what I give you.

We're both withering away.

We're both seeing us through.

[sapuchino]

“What have I become? My sweetest friend. Everyone I know goes away, In the end.”

— Nine Inch Nails

[sapuchino]

It was just a joke, I was just kidding.

It was just a joke, you were just kidding.

It was just a joke, we were just kidding.

It was just a joke.

And now we're both kissing.

[sapuchino]

I threw up that highland grass I loved to graze.

I threw my eyes at you so you’d catch my gaze.

I bit the bullet just to swallow it with a vitamin water.

I didn’t want to be caught in your web but here I am, inside of a spider. 

[sapuchino]

Oh, did we stay up.

Just so we could get down.

Our tired kisses on the border of Ohio state and dream state.

Our dozing off and shaking awake just to pretend the night lasts as long as we do.

The morning won’t sneak up on us.

Count these excuses like sheep and I’m a shepherd until dawn.

Maybe this isn’t who we are but it can be right now.

Our heads are Seattle forecast and that’s alright. 

Let’s stay indoors and make these lucid mistakes.  

[sapuchino]

Thank god they could never dust for finger prints.

When I say I never loved you.

The little waves and little dents would shine under a blacklight over your body.

Every one of my digits and my kisses stamped onto you like a secret lipstick,

all there in plain sight revealed by talcum.

Hold it against me in a court of flaw.

I made mistakes. 

You can tell the world I’m a liar but what’s it say that I would lie about loving you?

[sapuchino]

Well here we are, the reasons for tension couldn’t be greater.

Yet I’m still writing poems about you all these seasons later.

Now I write with anger, instead of those loving hands.

And if the winter can’t cool me down, I’m certain that nothing can.

I’d hope that by now all the bruising’s gone.

But I look at my bloodied knuckles and think this is moving on. 

[sapuchino]

You're so drop dead.

I just want to drop dead.

Rewire my robot head

Pull the trigger and fill it with hot lead.

Keep these feelings to myself.

Some things are better left not said.

[sapuchino]

I'm stitched into your cheek.

Placed here before good intentions were culled.

Before the bad outweighed the good.

Before mountains were carved into something pretty that we all forgot was a mountain.

How could we forget when we're trained to think of one another on calendar days?

Can you forget someone who you remember with every first snowfall?

I don't think we can.

No, I don't think we can.

[sapuchino]

Puncture my lungs, deflate them and dry them.

Plate them between glass and frame them in canvas.

Hang them in your house so you can always remember the last time you took my breath away. 

It’s the most you’ll get from me.

[sapuchino]

Il paraît qu’elle m’a aimé huit ou dix jours, et moi je l’aimerai toute la vie.

Stendhal , The Red and the Black (via orendil )