the space above my ears.

Boy

It's such a waste when I'm having the same epiphany every single night, writing it down, and finding it gone in the morning.

I fight the temptation every day to just let it go.

I won't slave away scrounging for materials to make tomorrow's big lie.

It is wrong to be exhausted by one's own thoughts, yes, but nobody who says this knows that heaven is just rockbottom.

It is exhausting to know the things I know, so yes again, I am wrong.

I wish to tell this to everybody else but I can't explain it without burdening them with the same ugly truth.

Sometimes I'll pass his bedroom in the nighttime and peer through the perpetual sliver of visibility    provided by the broken latch.

He's always there in the same position, watching the moon, waiting for it to blink.

He has a doll of you that he keeps behind his record player, you know.

He reads to her and when his parents are asleep, he tucks you under his pillow.

He's always on the brink of something big, the tip of a tongue.

I am always watching him and thinking about how much he reminds me of you.

It is worse in so many ways because I can smell and taste the blueish fog rising from the lake, but I can't see it.

I can kiss his cheek and hold his hand but his skin is so cold.

I don't have to ask what's on his mind.

I know he is wondering why they exploit explicitly the innocent ones, twisting their pain into something to make the rest of us look pretty.

I was on the bridge with him one time, watching the reflection of the ice at the banks of the river break off and drift down the stream.

He looked far away.

He asked, "the smallest thing you'd kill and die for; what is it called?"

I said something silly and he smiled because he knew the answer already.

It was nice like that.

I tell him so.

I tell him he is like Samson without his hair, and he says he's better off this way.

He sips his coffee and thinks about you some more.

It gets harder to watch, day by day.

He's so full of dizziness that watching him makes my head spin.

I am only waiting at this point.

Solstice comes and the waterfalls get to him eventually.

I find him in the courtyard on the ground, chest peppered with bullet holes,

Beautiful bullet holes and moths are emerging from them, free at last.

He was carrying so much more than you knew.