I always loved the idea of you
Being 4 beers down and 7 bong hits deep into a midsummer night––
Sitting on your 2nd or 3rd floor patio, abreast the treetops
of your little neighborhood and a purple Buffalo sky;
We were talking about med school, and evolution, and George Carlin,
among other ideas and proper nouns.
You were listening to your favorite shitty jam band out of a bluetooth speaker––
And you were wearing nothing but a hockey jersey.
Why has that image of you come to stain my mind?
I imagine you this way all the time
Like I imagine the memory of a light hurricane’s might in west central Florida.
It’s not just a lie I’d tell you if you were mine––
it’s a visual mantra that keeps your ghost alive.
No matter what I do I’ll have to always remember you––
It’s because we could have had it all.
Back when I thought the sky lived somewhere up above us both.
Funny, that the person I always ran to whenever the sky fell down
was never a person who once had been the sky at all
but just rather a person who would periodically flirt with becoming closer.
But you were always that person in the way of some unintentional repeating fate.
I just always liked the idea of you, though I never could make it work.
There was always this idea that the planets could align
But now we’ve grown apart and I don’t know why.
It seems as though we each thought the Sun was something else,
or maybe the Sun was never the point––but who knows.
Perhaps it’s why we now stand in distant holes.
I found my credibility buried beneath the ground;
I just thought you might care to know.
I dug it up with naked feet, and now it’s somewheres high above me.
I keep on descending deeper down beneath the depths of decency;
abreast the edges of my humanism, I now am made to howl.
We could just dig our ways back to each other;
it’s true. I’m game if you are down.
Entropy digs me deeper evermore––
I just pray you’re as fucked as I hope you are.
My sky––it does not exist anymore.
Look at me, damnit. Look at me.
I’m an idiot on the side of the road, holding a flip sign
that says I’m an idiot.
You know I can play this game all night long.
Was it a late night tweet that used me as your muse––
or a memory of my love that you now wish to abuse?
Don’t tell me––The camera––It must keep rolling––
And you can do no wrong––
And I––I know not how to feel shame anymore
because the sky does not exist.