Past Tense

When crying keeps you up at night
and you can’t find your way home.

Sheets stained with nights you thought meant more,
like the words he spoke,
the flower he picked for you,
now dried out in your car –
You so carefully placed
each petal in a tiny birdcage,
hanging from the rearview;
You wanted to keep them
so delicate, fragile
inside the cage
like the one that holds your heart
(you wanted to keep it safe).

It used to make you smile
and now it makes your insides turn
faster than you used to
when you ran
from this very feeling,
heart more sour
than the stale taste of Italian pastry
left clinging to the ribbon ‘round your wrist
the one you chose to keep
there, it used to remind you
there was something
for you in this world
and it was him
and it was just that,

EJZ 08.28.2015


Since the second poem references the first, I am posting both here.

I’m trying to remember the sound of your voice
but all I can see is your eyes.

Have you ever lay back and just watched the sky breathe?

Why is it
every word you write
or I consider
makes me want to cry?

I’ve never felt this before.
I miss it already.

Every step, breath
to last as long as possible.

and waiting.

Will it last?
Can I make it last?
Can I make it?

I don’t want to say this.
Just breathe silent.
If I shut my eyes,
not here.

I’m afraid to get close –
don’t want to get hurt.
Instead I question,
how long will it take you to bury me alive?
Would it be better to be emotion-strangled?

Today I cried.
I miss you.
I already miss you.
I am so bad at missing people
no matter how much I practice
I never get good at saying goodbye –
too permanent –
fear commitment –
long stability –
long commitment

If I could contain all my dreams in a basket and never let them go, I would do that.

I don’t want you to be just memory.

I wish I could get close enough,
just enough to forget
but I remember everything,
even the sound of your voice,
the way your chest moved under moonlight
and sometimes I can’t speak –
it’s too sublime.

I remember everything
and forget to cope.

Too much, too much!
Sensitive as
begging –
Can I make it out alive?

Lingering 09.01.2015
Lips, starving
for touch, the taste
of things that never were
Chasing the ghost
of a beauty, a truth
proven lie, nightmare
I keep waking up into
I wrote, I don’t want you to be just memory –
Should I have read that one to you?
Would you have understood?
Did you think I’d forget?
I wrote, I remember everything
I wrote, too sublime
I guess I meant too good to be true
but for that moment,
the one,
enamored and waiting
You wrote,
I’ll keep you waiting too
I remember
but I’m not waiting anymore –
Only long enough for truth to turn lie –
Didn’t take long
You do a fine job
Just memory,
Just ghost,
to lips confessing truth,
can’t survive without –
so no more lingering,
no more starving lips.