#iwillnotforget

Orange, Red

i am not stone

i am not some unfazed passing of silence through the night

i am hot tears and shame and clenched jaw at the checkout counter and eyeball sidewayzed at the muthafuckas over there laughin like shit all good good and sweet and baby wont call no more and laughter seeming kinna foreign round bout now and liquor sip a little sweeter good fresh burn trickle down the throat and errething swim

together

or na

i guess life just aint what you think its never gon be it beez that sometimes it jump up and tell you sit the fuck down and listen and you be like fuck you and it stick you in your gut and you sit down and the listening now hurts

something missing

something missing in my day

morning coffee? breakfast? eggs? milk or sugar? matching sock?

something is missing... feel like a hole in my shoe, a hole that tunnel long, from chest piece to shoe sole and it feel like the contents all spilt out and slippery now and i'm slipping now

down

and down

down into silence

again

i am not a stone. stones can be picked up and held. their warmth can be felt as some elusive pulse present in the stretching open palm of a being.

i feel something quite a bit less corporeal. something ghosting itself loose. a streak of off-white lightning through the sticky night. or a torn up canvas, half painted and burning quick. or a gust of wind, sneaking inside your coat, chilling you something sorrowful.                                                                or just alone.

i am not a stone.