i must be dreaming

your mouth’s so full of morphine

‘cos you took the fast track to sin

you start to wonder if all you’ve seen

is part of a wandering from god’s scene

when all your sins start crouching at the door

you smoke another dozen from the store

we’ll argue again about god’s partiality

and our pure poverty at its best brutality

so if we die paupers not as wise

(no worries) all are welcome here in his eyes

we’ll finally be awake at the door to the sky

with just enough time to say love you, goodbye

Keep reading

six years have passed and your dream is still the same. maybe god never answers us because we aren’t ever in time with him.

you tell me to come out but

it’ll be the death of me then (I’m sorry)

you say someday when I’m older

you’ll strip down past your shoulders

but even then you’ll be sorry

because my head’s made from narcotics

and my mouth sleeps all year long

so we never talk and get along

we’ll be alright if my name never comes up

on that damn record you’re always playing

you say to come out again but

it’ll be the death of us (you know it too)

you say someday when I’m older

you’ll stop cutting at your shoulder

but even then you’ll feel sorry

since our lungs will be bleeding out instead,

tongues burnt from arguing all night long

all because we can never get along

we’ll be alright if I tell you what’s on my mind

since I never do even though you’re mine

you say to come out from hiding but

I’ve loved you to death (don’t be sorry)

yet our breaths still sound the same

you’re sleeping in my head again and

the evening has pulled the sun home into bed

you say the feeling has grown old

and my heart is always cold

this is going to hurt but do you mind

if I’m alright without you this time?

we’ll be alright if you keep me close to home

and I forget my traumas enough to stay calm

Keep reading

Sunday mornings,

and love letters starting with

“How are you?”s and ending with

“You rid me of blues”

Like I am medicine, a mere drug

you took so nonchalantly

only to be surprised it worked

Like I am child’s candy under your tongue

when you weren’t smoking off your lungs

in the eye of thieves after your money

Sunday mournings,

and letters starting with love,

then immense regret and sorrow

ending with more empty comfort

Like you were nothing until you died

and met God only to see Him crying

because we didn’t even get to say goodbye

Like every September has been cursed

since your leftover friends forgot you

during the after party after your funeral

Sunday doings,

and church goings and pray telling dreams

letters starting with questions and

ending with “thank you, Jesus”

Like your absence could be filled by God

the empty seat at the diner we loved now

belonged to the brother of your best friend

Like he was god-sent, here to save us

from tearing our nails and lives apart;

here to save us from another funeral

Sunday yearnings,

and love letters starting off about a girl

who radiated life in a world of death

but ending with more sorrow and apologies

Like tomorrow would come easy

and our blessings would come showering

to clean the blood out of our battered brains

Like said girl could spill her secrets

and colors to break this monochrome

only to break my head, then my heart

Sunday affairs,

some filled with love and others not quite

the smell of popcorn and lemongrass soap

replacing older tides and burying the past

Like whatever we had when we were younger

has to be left behind for us to stay alive

and become what everyone said we couldn’t

Like everything leftover has bloomed

in the wake of your six year long funeral

and we are now lost ghosts with a name

Keep reading

Keep reading

Keep reading