Well, this is in three parts

I

As fiction becomes fragmented
and truth becomes the vinyl,
The needle scratched my spine,
deep.
The ashtray on the table
gets knocked over--
up in the air!
Gravity brings it down
spewing
the contents
on the carpet.

It's a one sided saunter
like a ghost over the water.
Is it really happening?
No- no sir you've got me all wrong.
I want your scent
and not your touch.
He slowly slips his hands
down a cold beer bottle.
I see him stare through the glass
as his fingers swallow the curves.

The music skips
at the bridge.

For a narrow second
I couldn't breathe.
Focusing on the moonlight
through the window
I remembered his hands were
nothing like this before.
My fever broke
and it all made sense.
My eyes were meant
only to shut
only to shut
only to shut
shut shut shut

and he walked away.

II

you’re like the sunset. you’re like the comas that i remember to use. you’re like nothing ive ever tasted before. you’re like the fire in my throat, the ink on my paper, the looseleaf in my notebook as it unfolds my poor brain. the emptying bottle of perfume i spray desperately to my wrists. you’re like the first time i got high. you’re the feeling of my nerve endings, pulsing all at once. you are the time i forgot my name. you are the time i cried mercy. you’re like a wasted fuck. you’re like all kinds of sickness that makes my insides slowly rot. and when i came down from the ecstasy i bled all kinds of mistakes. if i could ever remember my name again, i would use it to wipe that smirk off of your face.

III

The center of this apple
has kissed the air and now
is slowly dying.
I wish I didn't have to see
the process before my eyes.
Cigarettes now fizzle
in the glory.
Deep inside potential once laid.
Seeds, stop pretending.
Because you'll be nothing
but dust.

Your violent hair
is hidden under a hat.
You're writing words
onto thin
thin
paper
to avoid even looking at me.
The letters look just like lines
connecting to other lines.
You're not a writer,
You're not a man.
You are only the silence
between sobs.
Keep writing.
As each word hits the paper
it dies too.

I saw you take your hat off
and your shirt.
Shadows from the blinds
cake your skin.
You cough out some
bullshit smoke
and have no apple to put the fire out.
I am not your ashtray.

and now
as the sun rises
the night dies too.