#spilledink

Do you ever take yourself to bed
just to end the day
with the expectation that tomorrow
will be better
than today

You’re still the same you
no matter how early
you sleep

Nihilism 

sounds reasonable

when trains close their doors in front of you

seemingly

on purpose… 

my mother

she was young when music was important.

I flip through her records

as if I washer,

in the 70s

hair wild as an untrimmed forest.

my fingers recognize one,

Young Americans

the death of her idol

David Bowie

brings with him

the loss of her youth

but also

and afterlife

that will live

longer than us all. 

good morning…

it was a Sunday,
too,
when I met you.

that was four months ago.
four months
and four days.

that bubble tea place
on 4th
has since closed down,

I walked by
with the expectation
of feeling, again-

but it just reminded me
of who you and I were
four months ago.

the year behind us now 

has left a blistering hole in my heart

where my passion used to be-

each recollection of

events slowly numbs my senses 

much like the start of this late winter-

but then comes you

draped in your black silk that 

sways almost as elegantly as your 

body-

you drag me from that driftless pub 

towards a museum

where even the ruby paint and gold leaf trimmed elites

seem dull compared 

to your celestial hair

red as Mars…

I lost an old lover because of you.

I shouldn’t blame you 

but I am

because I am selfish…

or at least that’s what he told me-

he said

you’re losing me, Arin…

but I was already gone

years

before

I

met

you.

my sister gave me a turntable.

I remember
you laughing with me
months ago
when I told you
that I collected vinyl
but had nothing to play them with.

I thought about you as soon as I saw the gold-covered box
under the tree.

she gave me a bunch of records too..

and I remember
you said my taste was classic-alternative
but
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to listen
to Siouxsie Sioux
without you…

in my dreams
he’s writing me a song…
he said he knew exactly
what he was going to get me
in Portland,
but I know he didn’t have a clue…
the only thing
that would help me
forgive him
is a song…

I had my last class today
which means that I’ve wasted 17 weeks

thinking about you
sprawled out on your bed

wanting you
to sing to me

kissing you
on your couch made for two people

waiting for you
to call me back when I don’t hear from you for days

and

letting your voice persuade me
when you inevitably don’t…

Helen told me New York was lonely

but I’ve been here for years

and yet,

I wasn’t as lonely

when I was alone

as I have been with you…

My sister thinks you’re a player.

I think she’s tired of me living in an eternal pity party

It doesn’t help 

that I only tell her the bad things,

It doesn’t help

that I waste my nights thinking of you,

and it doesn’t help

that the only thing I find relatable

to our relationship

are Morrissey lyrics. 

your room is blue

you tell me all the time that you’re going to paint it 

but you won’t.

It’s kind of like 

when you promise me 

that you’ll call…