Friday, February 22, 2013

Untitled 8 by Lucas Regazzi

This will be my 8th untitled document
And the last document I’ll need to complete
Every last sentence, I’ll speak this to you in confidence, that I know now
That we are the same heart
Because hurt is inevitable, and although hurt seems stronger than any of your last I love you’s and any of your beautifully woven hurricane thoughts
About how you feel
We still knock on each others’ door to hear the heart’s footsteps anxiously run closer to welcome us in
But before I let you love
Kick off your shoes, please
Destroy your shoes, set fire to your fucking shoes
Because I’ve been walking bare through the muds of empty promises and frost ridden blades of grass and rocks so sharp they could
Cut my soles and you’d be bled of me, whole-heartedly
Swept away like a red nile, overflowing this whole damned city
Of hurt so bad I’ve had to catch my breath perchance I’d exhale every second thought I’ve had of simply abrogating your existence
Of canker soars from all of the deeply salted wish chips that I’ve wished, for one more kiss, or two more kisses
Of regretting turning myself inside out
A dandelion waiting for October until the wind dries out
And all is left is an unlovable, bulbous stem
Children stomp on flowers like that
Well, most that is

This was going to be a
Sad poem
I’ll never hold you again
A dissolving of apparent sweet nothings that tasted as sweet as anything real that I’ve allowed myself to indulge in
But you stopped me
Told me you needed time
That the clock in your room wasn’t big enough for the hope that you had that one day things would work
That gears were grinding in these clocks, they’re just too small to hear
And there are millions of grains of sands in this hourglass of years
But it’s only been two weeks, and fear haunts the senses
Making each touch feel like 500 volts, and I illuminate my darkest secrets
The amount of times I’ve resisted the urge to hold your hand,
the hateful words I’ve constructed,
The worth I had when you slipped and pulled my hand to the pavement,
And as you remove your vest and hang it up
On the rack closest to my aorta
I want you to know that my heart is your home

And that, we all fuck up sometimes
Even this January rains
Even dandelions turn white and old
But that doesn’t make them any less than they ever were
This is my 8th untitled document
The one that will outshine the 7 bitter storms of words that I couldn’t write

I love you for stopping me

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