The day you left is the day I stopped drinking.
The day I quit soaking my own inconsistencies to make them go down easier. The day I realised it took my own 17 year old fucking kid to make me learn how not to act like child. The growing up I should have done in the last 30 years was compressed into 3 weeks and it was sobering in more than just one way Let me describe to you, darling, that feeling of having both found and lost you all in an instant. I want you to hear the steady sighs of rope swaying on creaking beam. To see the metronome swing of your shadow thrown from the candles to the wall. To feel that second of silent shock that overtook all our worlds before the storm came. Your little brother sobbing so hard the dry heaves sound like the cough and sputter of a dead engine. Mom crumpled into the linoleum screaming for her son, but your dear old dad just stands at attention. I grit my teeth and I’ll choke back tears but not a single one will ever wet my cheek.And I couldn’t bear them, but your mother watched all your videos alone in the living room, silent. Fucking silent. I left instead, went to get your sister at the airport. I hoped she might be clean for this, but her habits took hold like a goddamned vice and she’s no more lucid than she’s been since she left us. At least when she left we saw it coming. For you it was a sudden crash of the leaving and the slow starve of the staying away. Son, I know things weren’t the best but I could have been the bridge to help you hold the strain of growing up. Your family could have acted as your favourite tree! We could have tangled you in roots and held you nestled in the branches high above any cruel intent. Son, if I’d known of your trouble with bones I’d have offered my own skin to clothe them. Or I’d have wished for the fortune to find a great hole to bury them in instead of you. I’ve been equipped to survive my father and his father, and his.. But you’ve messed up the works! Now you’re cased in wood and caked in dirt and no number of roses or handfuls of earth will bury my responsibility. This is my fault. I could have fixed you, I should have been.. more perceptive, i don’t fucking know. I don’t know what I could have done, but I’m coming clean. I’m taking your words and letting you steer my vessel. I’m packing my things and heading for a separate direction.
Track Name: Woods
we'll start out with maps sewn into our jacket linings and our routes tattooed on the backs of our hands. and when our fingers intertwine our paths'll converge and for however long we can, we'll dance in the sweet waters of bliss. we'll sing golden songs to match the dawn and when we tire, we sprint wildly in any direction we choose to. cause honey I know our time's not forever but for winding ways such as ours I know there's no chance of running parallel. and my sense of direction could use some development so in all likelihood i'll lose my way even following you so close. but youre magnetic north and my compass still works alright so i'll hold true and count my paces til I can hear your laugh sparkle through the underbrush. we'll bask in whatever sunlight the canopies will afford us while we drift off listening to the rattle of leaves in the wind. I'll be out like a light but you'll be awake for when the bluebirds start weeping and you'll cry alongside them albeit silently for fear of waking me. but I wake easily anyway, and when I rise and shed my covers i bring the pink morning sun with me.
and only then will your mind resign itself to the happy weaving of dreams. and maybe you'd dream of us at sea in a beautiful pea-green boat. rowing absently with no sign of shoreline but hearts filled to the brim with gladness that we were all that we needed. withered and wasting away but content because HAPPINESS is ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED. in the afternoon when you shake the sleep from your lashes we'll reflect on your morning's imaginings and set forth on the trail again, me wearing my jacket inside out and you tracing the tips of your fingers over the names of every town you'd ever want to lay eyes on. and god i never loved you more than that instant, your eyes glowing with the fever of adventure and your lips looking so ripe for kissing. it's good weather for lovers, you said. and when you turned away i knew your lips held back the flood of all your insecurities, and at any point they could buckle and wash us both away but for the good of us both you held back any questions of security or solid foundation. and heaven knows how much we hate getting wet. our knees are flecked with cuts and bruises from tripping over roots. maybe someday we'll be able to clear this path a little better but who's got time for that when there's roads to map out? for now I say we break out the bandaids and the iodine. scrapes happen but thats the fun of the wandering. we'll soldier on and march to each other's beat. but it might do us well to tie our shoes a little tighter.
Track Name: Blossom
her lips are the tender kiss off a last cigarette. her perfume's the dying smell of late autumn. and every evening she comes to me with that ecstatic glow, but that ecstasy's chemical. and i get the feeling that the straight and narrow isnt her preferred method of travel. i'm not in love with her, but i could be. i've caught myself dreaming of which parts of her face to kiss, and which jokes to crack to make her smile when she's lonely. she's got me hooked, and she's the same but she keeps her love in a little bottle in her backpack, and he can keep her level a lot longer than i can. sometimes we'll share morning toasts to forgetting, dying our mouths red with sunrise wine and hoping for some reprieve from the thinking. she's got polygraph honesty but she'd never let me read her poems. she can read mine by studying these dishwater eyes and recite my romances back to me. she always knows what i'm dying to say, and i'd tell her but me being honest takes either weeks of rehearsal or hard liquor. she won't trust me because others have hurt her but i promised my self i'd take nothing from her that wasnt wrapped as a gift. sometimes she's brittle but others she's diamond. regardless, she's gorgeous but broken like shards of a shattered stained glass window. she doesnt believe in heaven but she's been acting as the bellows of the church organ, breathing that heat into my lungs. that blossoming heat of a warm hand on cold skin.