of course everything goes in months
what did i do to deserve you, june july august?
i didn't do anything, that's why
september october november
and there's nothing to finish the line with.
it's winter now.
come february,
knockoff-me will turn twenty.
happy birthday, cloud.
i want to keep her young.
i could delete her from existence
and just be me instead.
stupid me.
like a little bug.
just smush me.
trap me under a cup.
crush me under your shoe.
the smallest things can do that.
everything's so old already
everything's losing its shine.
sometimes, i don't even want to go anymore.
it's been about the shiny people
it's been about you.
i had to hang up for a reason.
i was sitting in my car,
wearing my colorguard jacket.
i just sat there breathing and listening
and then.
then.
the faint scent.
i didn't make it up, it wasn't on the back burner,
forgot it had even been worn.
no, it was really there.
the cold cold white green grey soft penguin old worn out hoodie brass closet dogs aliens dr pepper taco bell nissan named carson arizona blue eyes soft shoulders scent.
so distant and so hard to reach.
had to let go,
smelled a pack of gum instead.
december 2019 lingered in the fabric, though,
it was there.
the quiet carpet mornings,
the headaches,
the dogs.
was a time of comfortable things.
so innocent. wholesome even.
threw it away for a nothing.
regret, and nothing but it.
could've jumped from one angel to another,
but lost myself,
had to sicken myself in between
so that i could more intensely bury myself in the goodness
and the love
when i got back.
i'd never go back there,
i never can.
YOU ARE READING
Everything left to complain about (stopped) (go read my other poem book)
PoetryPoems and strings of words that don't qualify as poems, from all four years of high school until the summer after freshman year of college. My recent works and anything I continue to write can be found in my new poem book, "Open your hands and say s...
