it's not the notes, but the spaces between them

in love with life
the happy medium
having made it
to the other side
of this tiny tunnel
to find a pulse
and brain waves
and light

there is a world beyond this
and me, lucky girl,
to have found it

so get
your hands
up

the longer this goes,
the more it hurts

and you, with your internal scalpel,
pulling yourself apart piece by piece
dissecting each atom
for the wrong

and each infected specimen
gets soaked in
the blame brine
bloated until
unrecognizable

you label yourself in jars
put the wrongs to paper
line them up in neat rows
along the back of your mind

the longer this goes,
the more it hurts

so let's numb what's left
let's tie off every hanging thread
and leave the rest for dead

tonight we cruised
to claim jumper and ate
too much food
and you told me you loved me
and i said i loved you back

--not in that way, no,
not us--more like
"i love you, thank you
for holding me up.
thank you for carrying me
these past few years
when i could hardly carry myself."

and that is our love
when i would drive across the country
tomorrow if you asked me to
when i would watch
your Dad's damn dogs
for four months
with a willingness i can't
muster for my own family

when you would foot the bill
for dinner because you know
i dropped $500.00 on my car
the day before
even though you'd paid the
same for your car the day before that

i love you, yes
my only friend in the world
my brother
i love you

let's drive to the middle of nowhere
and die under a sunset
let's be born with the moonrise
and make castles in the salt mines

let's lay low until morning
curl likes cats thirsty for heat
let's drink coffee so we can't sleep

let's kiss until our mouths hurt
and touch and touch and touch

this is too much

the weight of the world sits
on your shoulders
and still, the skin on your hands
grows papery soft

the hardest hour
is this one
the lonely hour

tucked between 
disregard and a
hopeful outlook

when i would give
everything to
undo every wrong

to tear myself down
and be someone
other than who i am 

to be a person
worth hanging 
on to for longer

than a handful
of years
more than breath and tears

the hardest hour
is this one

crawling towards the end of October
you carry around old memories
like cans tied to the back of a car,
rattling around and bruised by the ground
until they're unrecognizable

(in the reflection of a sunday morning
everything you are is unrecognizable)

every ache and sadness, you hold at
arms length, afraid it will puke and scream
on the new shell you've made of yourself

(nobody makes you sad
nobody makes you cry)

crawling towards the end of October
memories rattling behind you
you are unrecognizable
you are just a shell

it is possible
to sound angry
but not be at all

 (don't push me
i just balanced)

ripped from the headlines of my melancholy
sitting bolt up right in a dream
i am Justice with the scales, and
they are tipped in someone's favor

planning and plotting
flipping the pages
reading the cards and palms
as if i could plot this ending out

one eye on the bed
and a hand on the door handle
i watch you watching me
and tremble

such a word, to linger on your tongue
the very tip of which meets hers
with drunken surety

you share a bottle and a half of wine
drown your caution
leap with reckless abandon

was this wait worth the wail?
were you were the wait?
is her mouth enough
to keep you?

you go to bed drenched in every sense
wondering

it is a simple life
shared over two beers a piece
in a crowded bar at Chili's

october saturday
split in two
watching horror films and reading
letters from a love you never stopped loving
(not ever, really, no, never)

and which is more painful,
the gore on the screen,
or the ache in your heart?

a peek in the looking glass
watching the chapters unfold
and there you are, not in them
how strange, the edit out
you are a ghost, haunting memories
already made without you

a prickly feeling, raking a hand through 
coated hair, and a pull
first forward, then back
with a shove, your other fist is flying
wishful thinking, knuckles making contact
with a crooked nose

SAY
IT
TO
MY
FACE
ASSHOLE

if i could i would tear down every word
and leave you naked in the cold

house lights lit, candles burning
roommate passed out on the sofa
a warm puppy snuggled against your thigh
music low, laundry done
house a mess, but yours enough
these are the makings of a happy moment

is it pride or ignorance that holds you here,
here, in this tomb that isn't even a tomb, more a 
space between the walls of different tombs

a non-existence
a place to wait and see
but there is no waiting here
only moving

every day is another shade of grey

if i could, i would put all the notes
(i would turn them into words)
to words on paper
they would be brittle and sweet
they would ache and stretch

and they would tell you
the way my heart feels
the way it wants, the endless
wanting behind the ribs

to hear this song
to feel anything but longing
to hear this song
and be reminded
to hear this song
and feel love

stumbling home after two a.m.
high on a feeling so beautiful
having not shared this kind of camaraderie
in months, if not years

crawling into bed, you recall a split pomegranate
laying in the road on the way home
how lovely, the ruby seeds
glittered in the lamplight

everything is beautiful
sparkling and alive
even when it falls apart
even when it's broken

you pull the sheets to your chin
dream of long drives to oregon,
a million words shared in a sigh
high on a feeling so beautiful

for a handful of moments, feeling like the only person in the room
toasting with a glittering circle of friends
eyes wide in surprise
a house lit with nothing but candlelight
closeness and wool suits
orange