In The Break Of Saturday

cut.
this morning when i woke
it was from a scream
where our bodies were linked and your sweat,
your sweat was my accessory;
beading around my neck until I could not breathe.
this morning when i woke
i could still feel the thrash
of silver-studded nightmares and mustard-colored fears,
in sweetly lied promises and bent autumn dreams.

(you're so last summer)
tattoos on the wrists of broken hearts
hold the secrets which I can only write.
the gift of the giver
and the bearer of these conditions.
i touch my firework scars and wince in remembrance
of your now jaded freshness and oh this hushed appeal.

this morning when i woke i could still sense the distortion
of pedaled images and hustled hips
as I stared struggling to hold onto
a squinted perception to remember you by.
and you. you spoiled faith one splinter at a time.
you proved the lyrics were forged.

taking back sunday.
this morning when i woke
it was from a song
and the night was still warm and the leads,
the leads were piercing in my truths,
and i realized it had been here all along
in scene-haired promises and sweetly lied chords
that they’ve left in my ear
to keep for this morning
when i woke to put both feet on the ground
and finally shatter; a beautiful D sus to a dying relief.


post.
sometimes I wish it were yesterday
in our spring jackets, wet noses stuck in other people’s businesses.
back then all we worried about was time;
that we wouldn’t have enough of it, that it would go by too fast.
we’ve all got something that won’t go away
i’m just not it.