kissing bruises setting bones

It's been just short of a year. I developed the theory she wasn't really dead at all. Some nights i get shivers that run up my spine. I sit up in bed eyes still closed, fingertips to my temples. I pronounce in clairvoyant fashion:
she is watching a movie right now but she isn't paying attention- wait- she seems to be anxiously awaiting a text on her cell phone. there is a glow from under her seat. she is fumbling around in her bag. then the picture in my head goes fuzzy.

maybe i should call her. I still have the number programmed in my phone. Is it something i should delete because she's gone? I just creep myself out hoping i see it flash one day. the fact is: I've always had an open invitation to ghosts and I half expected a haunting already.
I press the call button but quickly cancel.

I want to go back to where she's buried just to check. but, what if she sees me? I'd hate for her to think i miss her this much. And the reality is I'd seen her dead. Her face beautiful and pale. Her hands balled into tight fists. As if to say "I'm done with you here, but where ever i end up, I'm ready to punch you till you pee blood"

this is a big risk but I think we were meant for each other. I pack a shovel and flash lite. so what if she finds out I've been missing her. isn't that what she would have wanted? some tears, a few heart- felt mentions in my blog? Of course.
At this point, who is she to think I'm being creepy. I'm not the one with 4" long fingernails and a plasma deficiency.

In the living world she told me not to wait for her. I didn't but i did. like it or not that's what living is. a lot of time spent waiting.

It's different than last time. We'd joke about faking her death so she could run off with me to parts unknown. Now, I'm waiting for her to make me a zombie too. I wonder will it be a bite? a scratch? will it hurt anymore or any less....like before?

it's not going to be the same kind of car crash. I promise you. this girl said she'd be awesome but i never thought this awesome. never thought a silent film. never imagined she'd be my favorite kind of monster movie, a sound track on vinyl. baby, you make me so alive that you can never be dead. i know where your heart is. dig through the dirt. reach for my hand.

awesome retro face

Time:
look at your watch. look at the clock on the wall. look at the bottom of your computer screen. remember the time. remember you spent it with me on my birthday.

our moments together slipping. I'm racing to write it all down but I've already forgotten half of what made it so great. The rest is inside me. I get another wish today. but i wouldn't feel right fucking her again or would I? i get cake. cake with candles, cake with frosting, cake with ants.
think about something you want and you'll get it. (except to get younger)

i like her to wear purple. i like when she wears the purple dress. purple eye-shadow. it's her best color and she might not even know it. Or is it green? It could be green. either way we are going out tonight. either way her panties to match purple or green. we are staying in or I'm picking her up or we'll just snuggle on the sofa. I'll pet her head and tell her to be good.

I know she isn't going to sing for me and if she did- not well. she fakes her way through it. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if she just stood there and smiled. happy- happy-happy.


it's carved into me. carved into my cake. my mother called me, my sister emailed, and my soon- to- be wife made me a notebook. I get a wish and I'm going to write it down in that book. Don't let me forget. I'm writing it down like this:
I've had my cake. I've had you. everything is the way it should be. 10\14\08. she loves me. she loved me. I wish everyone to be as lucky as me.

interested in seeing what i got?: tumblr

i can't explain how i spend my days - I'll show you.

i said this: i miss you.

i did this: woke up and started again, read some of a new book, made her dinner, rubbed her head, a song left me speechless, a puppy stole my heart, forgave myself, said fuck, had ideas, looked at her picture, found pictures, stole pictures, stole music, stole art, made art, made love, fell in love, imagined, fell asleep, woke up, thought about you, used blue ink, spilled wine, cleaned my glasses, cleaned her glasses, kissed her goodnight, kissed her goodbye, watched her sleeping.

I wrote things down in various places and they looked like this:

- i used to write things here. now i don't get it. now it's like why? but then again why not? even when she used to read this. it's just ill communication. (i can't believe i just used a beastie boys term)

-my birthday is the 14Th, I'm getting married on Halloween. Ive always liked October. the leaves don't change down here in florida. they don't fall. only me

- i feel pretty good after all, at least i know Ive inspired someone. a little her, a little him, a little you. that means a lot to me. why is once never enough ?


- when someone likes you the littlest things you say and do mean something. mean everything. I remember when the buzz of her phone made her jump with excitement because she knew it was me. I wonder if someone calling her now means as much. is the shiver still there? a quick fix is all it takes sometimes. just hi !. that's it. then we are good for awhile. just words through space. just words through space placed on page. i can feel when she thinks about me. it's not jedi magic. or some disturbance in the force. It's okay to miss the good things once in awhile. just thoughts for a moment. lay still, lay stolen. it's normal. just something to blink before your eyes, until it's gone. I think it's fair that i let you use what you need. this life is far to short, the people here are large in numbers, but few enter the vein. fewer still enter the blood stream. however far you'd let me reach, it's the least we can do for each other.

- my mother always told me my biological father was a preacher. my grandma told me he was an artist. are you anything at 18 years old? isn't everyone an artist and preacher? I'd like to think i am.

-I saw my birth certificate the other day and it's bizarre to read my mother being only 16 and him only 18. in 1969. It's strange to read his name, of someone you've never met, but is genetically linked to you. It's just that everything always appeared to be clouded in some kind of mystery. As a kid i could imagine him being all kinds of things. And me being a part of him having all kinds of wonderful powers handed down to me. i have been a mutant, a super-hero, son of a rock-star, preacher, artist, in the mafia, and even a prince. I've never thought of anything less than that. Even after all these years, my expectations remained high. i am living proof that " somethings are better left unknown."

- i looked him up the other day, with everything i do know and the internet being what it is. (god and the devil). I did it on the premise of finding out about my family medical history. Anything i should be looking out for?, Had he already suffered a heart attack at a young age?, balding? I mean, when can i expect to fall apart? That kind of thing. I only looked though, i didn't make contact , didn't interfere with his life that he wanted no part of me in. Though i might have half sisters\brothers somewhere out there. more to imagine i guess. Christina Ricci my half-sister? That would be strange. His parents are pushing 90 and both still alive so that kind of answers my question about the the medical thing. He lives in an upscale part of California. Owns a marketing agency based out of Santa Monica. So i guess he is an artist\preacher after all. Long way from rock-star, super-hero though.

i finished with this:

there are pieces of me scattered all over

dirty smudged
pages that
you wouldn't read

there was a story
i wrote
about us
about you
about me

a summers end a good winter

night driving
burning drowning
leaving

you ended up writing horrible things about me
and i returned
the favor
in less clever lines

i said i fucked you
i said i loved you
i whispered
every rude word i could think of
in your ear

there

are pieces of me strewn all about

and they don't
fit

without
you

when sparkles taste like stars

Now

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flow past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed

your mouth with the force of language,
to have spoken your name at all

by Greg Watson

be it me, or be it none

and us both never being big on communication or just an inability to completely understand what the other was saying. whether it the heat between us, the pretty, or dirty, it was deafening .
So, as not to hurt each other by mistake
she tells me silence is golden. but, it's green in your eyes.
not like money but like emerald seas, which alone spoke volumes to me.

All those poisoned arrows were never pointed directly at you, dear.
something you should know.
for everyone else who thinks they know me and never will.
(this doesn't include you)
it is my distance that fairly often leaves me
missing my mark. i wonder with you, if i had ever gotten close.


I find this sort of thing: the writing of letters .. frustrating and futile.
it only reinforces the fact you miss something you can never have. confirms that you loved her more than she did you. you think okay, maybe she.....and that's only wishful thinking and only so you can make it through the fucking year.

sure, she has memories and fondness and thank fullness but that will never make her yours. all the inspiration then and now. yours once, yours for a moment, but never yours now. never close. never beside you.

and don't you think about that? isn't it slightly possible to sink back in? because the one true fact of it all: is that we will always be more than exceptional together in small doses. how we are fine with the big things but the little things we can't possibly sustain. It's not fair that its the little things that count sometimes in life. short bursts. attention spans directed only to our fire and chemical burn all the way down to the fingertips. in a room, without words, I picture nothing has really changed. I mean how does one fight away feelings when you haven't a clue as to where they come from nor why they never seem to have left.

but i can only measure us in hours at a time, maybe a night or two or three. bodies and hearts on fire. this is why there are no pictures of us. lets kiss before it gets bad again. let me leave before i say something stupid again. we shouldn't, but why can't we stop this? we do what we always do. I am your ice-cream on the cake. nicotine candy. we do what we always do. make the stars shine. I lean you back as you kiss my face. where forever and never again take up the same space in our minds. exceptional with hello and goodbyes and heat until we are burned all the way through. leaving us only with addiction and smoldering ash.