They say you can’t sprint a marathon but here we are. Running all out for years toward something that makes less sense to those standing still. Paralyzed in a waking dream with a golf ball in the accelerator. Not sleeping much. It’s long days and longer nights spent surviving in search of the foundation for my castle in the sky.

Hare Krsna, Hare Rama

I met a monk who gave me a manual to perceiving divinity.

At first glance that sounds like a loftier odyssey than the one that began with you, hanging off the balcony, painted with a smile seductive and unsettling. But who’s to say our scene in the garden wasn’t influenced by the divine? The sky blew careful kisses, readily accepted by the dew that had only just caught the first overtures of Sunday. Cigarette smoke echoing infinitely upward from pursed lips; spirits rising alongside heart rates excited by cocaine and unbridled possibility. Drag me over the rocks beneath your demeanor, I could go down with this ship.

……….

I wonder how close it came to that.

It was more than a year of flights ago that I’d read a novel about a therapist and his patient. Don’t fall in love with what you can’t fix, but who’s to say who’s in a greater state of disrepair? Is it sad that the longer the relationship, the more one is taught about what forgiveness means?

I’m a little high right now yet no closer to God nor answering my phone. Different numbers buzz their way into existence now and my intentions have become intimately impersonal. Walking into an all-too-familiar scene wearing someone else on my arm. Running through the immediate to forget about the inevitable that doesn’t hit until you’re already coming down, the likes of which are more reminiscent of falling than settling. I’ve seen you falling down as your world crumbles around you. I already did mine but can’t forget the taste.

There are currents in this world that exist beyond our perception. The Chinese believed in what was called the Red String of Fate. The idea that we are already bound by an invisible red thread to the people who we are meant to be with. I’m not sure how they knew it was red if it was invisible. I’m not sure why you said we were magic if you didn’t believe in the miraculous. For now it’s back to the grind, waiting for another distraction to take the edge off.

Have You Back

"Don't threaten me with a good time”.

 Somewhere south of paradise you never regret not sleeping more. But how else to find that first one? The first to make you question if others are not far behind. 
See I'm not a player I just crush sometimes and you cheat sometimes but we had to start somewhere. Jesus forgives and while your boy might not, I don't see any rings here aside from the one I pretend hangs over my head when I talk to girls like you.

 I like my relationships to begin from the end so that they only go up but seems we got too high besides highways, rolling on the coastline, to living across an ocean with a blocked number and a soul full of bad vibes. Alessandra but my phone still reads Aly; one L is a power play girl, you were always a minimalist. Coco Chanel said you gotta put on your outfit & when you're ready to leave, take one piece off. Instagram knows you took that to heart.

Let You Go

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Poetry's a passion, not a sport; as athletic as one can be with a pen, it doesn't make friends like a football does. As a youth breaching adolescence, I was shipped off to a place that didn't foster the artist growing within. I only sought to be my own, but, as that was too much for friends and family, I cultivated my first crop of secrets.

Belonging is a hell of a drug. Those days it meant so much. While I'd love to say that’s changed, old habits die hard. I've grown accustomed to the cloak and dagger. In the dark, I have the freedom that comes without form. I am an infinite material, one that cannot be caged within the infrastructure of another’s perspective.

Teen Fiction

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