#spilled goodbyes

In the near future, at the sound of the door opening, we will come to some end through eyes, voices, rooms forgotten, as we give up on our desires easing into and out of our heaviness to acknowledge the cycle always repeats, reacting, becoming severed from rest and into decomposure, until the world swallows us whole and we are home again. I’m sorry for my ghosts and all their failures. I never did befriend, their delicacy, like strands of long hair carried in a breeze, to get caught on god’s garage sale sweater, the one with the black holes bigger than time, chilling the bitter game we play to awaken from our enigmatic existence; wine from his cup doesn’t necessarily have equations, at least none that can solve for the value of our why— the resurrection of the world in sun loving algae and bacterial design, that the very soil and fungi remembers in some deep dream of ancient light where there is no word for goodbye.

So long, and don’t worry about this or that could’ve been, we’ll be digging angels from all of hell’s forlorn roads a long time if we start regretting it all now. So don’t paint me pictures no more texts, or selfies or poems on the back of your Styrofoam coffee cups and I wont carve my initials on your shoulder with my brushed and flossed and dentist approved teeth. If you get roses, from other somebodies who promise you better will-be’s or once upon a time’s or better midnight conversations then, I wish’em well but please don’t post the details better left in the dark. Moreoverly, don’t forget: get enough sleep and shower at least once a day and please refrigerate the damn eggs because food poisoning is no joke and when time stops running to finally catch up with god it won’t any longer matter we were just one more mistake in a long, long line of’em.