xxx

Do you still let the light linger in your doorway?
Or have you shut yourself out from starry-eyed optimism?

I remember the flickering streetlights
Skipping pebbles as chances on the subtle seas of your mind
I know it’s been a hard time
And I heard you’re doing something short of fine

But do you ever think of me in that way?

I knew I would never forget you
But I forgot the way you made me feel

Squeezing orange juice in the early morning,
Slightly chilled, but lukewarm dewy
There’s a comfort in vitamin C
And there’s a comfort in your mystery

And I’m not asking for tongue-tied thanksgivings
All I’m asking is to dance in the fall
When the trees start to change and I stop to call
Do you wish to replace it all?

I’m a cold soul, and I’m a torturer
But I caught a glimpse of fortune in the city
And I caught a sliver, a sliver of feeling

I know you made some changes
And so have I
Cut your hair shorter, lemon satisfied
Interstellar feelings and gripping myself
You’re a shooting star and I’m lost in your eyes

I go camping and I burn my emotion
And I know one day, I’ll shoot across the ocean
But to be so close and devoid of devotion
Don’t let me get caught up, lost, in the motion

So would you give me one night to actualize
These feelings that I’ve had since mid July
You made me feel so muffed up, alive
A part of this world like I could survive

We don’t have to take it further
Just please don’t drift any further

Stay.

Do you still let the light linger in your doorway?
Would you let me in?
I am knocking

Graham
A Dark Hue (In Front of Darker Blues)

I sit with a coldness
Laying upon my fingertips
A gentle kiss
As an entering wish.

I’ve always made sense
Of the in between
Never fully one thing,
I’ve always related to that idea.

The world is running on caffeine wheels,
My adolescence burning from LCD feels.
And the neon glow of love’s gorgeous undertow
Is beautiful in the dark—but with a deadly blow.

I never made sense of my time with love’s complacence.
My life was overflowing from an abundance of transparency,
So I found it best to keep running,
And made friends with the desert visage and the deserted cities that alluded to an incomplete mirage.

And what an homage it was to see your face.
A distant longing,
One I was always unable to place my finger upon,
Even with my finger upon your skin,
Your body moving and shape-shifting to be a free entity again.

I never crossed a boundary, there were none in accordance,
But I realize the mistakes of our previous encounters.
How I always admired the art in the sky,
Searching for newness but creating decay in lies.
And similar to the art we grew up surrounded by—
Bored but respectful of the dutiful time—
I never took the time to admire the intricacies in how you lie.
The Earth as your head support, the stars always your comforter.

I had no place in space with her.

I’ve been sleeping less and I call it “indifference”.
I bet you’re stealing sleep and flying toward the coldness.
Someone so warm needs an opposite to calm—
Not a rampant fire to have unleashed upon them.

In the cosmic misunderstandings,
I sit with a coldness
Laying upon my fingertips
A gentle prick

As a lingering reminder.

You’re a glass building,
Eyes aglow in the dusk.
Contrasted from the skyline,
Your beauty stands erect.

In this fragmented foreground
Of emotional illusion,
I stumble upon a reflection.
One I no longer recognize,
But is reminiscent of your eyes.

Graham
TOMATOESINTHEAM

YOU ALWAYS MADE ME EAT TOMATOES IN THE AM
SWEET AND BITTER, FEELING HATED IN THE AM
YOU’RE WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO EAT TOMATOES IN THE AM
I THINK OF YOU IN PASSING, EATING MY TOMATOES IN THE AM

Graham
What's your price?

My mind is a dimly lit corridor.

I love the colors but I hate the damned war.

A light orange and sickly sweet purple splash upon my walls

As a kaleidoscopic dance paints in swirls the ceiling of my faults.

You can capitalize your worries

And scream at me your frustrations,

But the cards we are dealt hold true

Until you up the ante

By walking away.

Graham
We all purge in different ways

As I was posing for pictures in public bathrooms,
I was concaving—rolling, smoking this world into a doom.
And the people close to me didn’t realize my absence,
So I scraped my knees and blocked calls
From drunk assholes.

You know
The story, the normalized verses of insanity.
And I’m tired of commercialized versions of instability.
I finally found a moment to put self care first—
But let me tell you:
Self care doesn’t rid of all the toxic woes.

I still find lingering bursts,
Clinging to words,
And passing by with a thirst.
And I realized in my hearse
That I don’t want to live in conformity.
I’d rather eat, breathe, and die in peace.

And to George,
My dear intergalactic companion:
I don’t care the galaxies that intertwine
Into implosions of the sleep and the divine.
I still rest assured with my words so misunderstood
And the secret encounters that refuel my darkest passengers.

If there’s a color for what I’m feeling,
Then it must not yet be created (but soon).
Because I’ve been running on the edge,
On the last of absurdist fumes.

And I know that Sisyphus and I
Have a lot in common.
We’re susceptible to the unremarkable,
And it’s remarkable,
That our rock has yet to fall
And kill us in the process.

I’ve been reading less and hearing less,
And steering clear of fearing less.
And less is more, I’m so damn sure,
The sirens I hear still unfurl.

But soon

I’ll be reading more and hearing more,
And steering toward a life of more.
A year or less, I’m so damn sure,
I’ll unravel and let travel unfurl.

I’m sick of talking to people
And my diary
Of my dreams beyond the hill
And the hell of normativity
And my dreams to break free.

I’ll grab my matcha and I’ll flee.

I’ll still be picking roses and trashing my mental notes.
Plucking temper tantrums
And berating my wrong choices.
In a world where I find myself associated—and relatively close—to nearby figures,
I continue to find myself out-casted,
Blacklisted,
And misperceived.

Sipping my tea,
And purging the bullshit,
I know wholeheartedly:
No one will ever know me.

Graham
Blissful vengeance, rude awakenings, and self love

You make me want to dance
With no pants
And a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

If the evening brings storms
And splits my heart,
I’ll sit on the ledge with you,
With split pea soup.
I’ll hold the moment in the back of my head,
I’ll let the wind sweep through
My fears
And I’ll look into the mirror
Of your eyes.

And I’ll whisper your name.

Cause in your absence
I’m untamed rain
And one day I’ll turn red,
And I’ll disgust you so.
But I can’t keep up with
The pace of this world.

So I’ll fancy
A new world
And I’ll re
Remember

You.

How you made me want to dance
With no pants
And a peanut butter jelly sandwich
Even on the brink of tears.

I’ll remember
Your soft synth fears
Folding me into an origami raven.
But I could never fly,
I could only float,
Tucked behind your heart
In a crevice
Locked

And forgotten.

I know years from now
You’ll hear my yells.

 

I’ll reverberate in your hollowness.

 

 

 

And make you want to dance.

Graham
I am a dark cloud.

I have always believed
That reality can be conceived.
And it’s the purpose of society to deceive
And to influence the way which we perceive.

I’ve adapted to the future,
Interacted with fewer people,
And I’ve grown up to understand
The small going-on’s in other heads.

It’s not a god complex
But questioning is complex
And my contemporaries are rarely bold enough to ascend the world’s chatter
For some discussion of absurdist matter.

And the people who possess thoughts of existence
Repress these thoughts through dutiful persistence.
It’s the echoing screams of leaders’ wishes
To extinguish the variants
And conform the resistance.

The irony here is the discussion is beyond jurisdiction.
There’s no anarchy here, in after-worldly dimensions.
But there’s an eagerness so misrepresented
That daydreaming about death will get you blacklisted.

It’s not a lust for the sensation
Or a pray for the execution
It’s an admittance in its inevitability
And an analysis on the world’s related duties.

An Italian countryside,
Rustic and rashly capitalized,
Is a fantasy that I continue to idealize.

How simple it would be to lay beneath trees,
To feel the subtle breeze,
Skipping pages as I read.
The ripples created
By these riveting actions
Disturb the ocean
Of my mind.
Deep and unsettling,
Forever a fear of mine,
For I relate too dearly
To the darkness below the surface.

And how simple it would be to breathe and taste leaves
To interact with no one
As I harvest my seeds.

The world is too much.
The words are too little.

I think life is quite a simple matter.

I have always believed
That your reality can be achieved.
And it’s the purpose of society to mislead
And to influence the way which we feel free.
But if you escape the deadly strategies,
And find yourself a place of peace,
You can cultivate your own type of trees
And live forever without having to flee.

As the sun sets
And the grass sleeps,
I make a goal for myself to reap.

I see my out,
And it’s not a hole in the ground.
It’s a matter of Now.
A matter of the countdown.

Similar to the moon,
I shall crystallize.

With this newfound freedom,
And better yet,
Understanding
There’s no reason for me not to seize
A life where living
Is simply
To be.

Graham
Opath City

You told me you were sick of dealing with the opaque,
You needed someone who would be worth the wait.

The vibrant colors and contrasted highs were too inconsistent to tame your desires,
So you left.

You left and you fled for a place beyond the brim of understanding
Where questions could be themselves
And ideas thrived in their secrecy.

You wrote to me of this place, saying:
“You won’t believe the sacred trees and pompous flowers that bloom between towers. In the land of Opath City, vulnerability is power.”

 

Graham
A Prelude for You

IN MY DEEPEST SLUMBERS,
I DREAMED OF A REALITY.
ONE TO ESCAPE THIS PHANTASMAGORIA…

How bittersweet are the words misspoken
From loose lips—
From the love that you’ve been withholding.

My mind has been echoing with these phrases,
Shouting at me,
As deviant, moral protests:
“WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!”
“F%CK SOCIAL MEDIA!”
“TO HELL WITH CONFORMITY!”
“LET ART BE ART!”
“YOU DO YOU!”
“LET LOVE BE A CONCEPT—NOT A REALITY!”
“GIVE US SPACE TO BREATHE!”

And in the near-piercing absence of these cries,
I found myself to be
A man of my word
And a woman of my world.

The object of my affection which I created with such care,
Such attention,
Felt incomplete and purposeless.
So I smashed it against the wall,
Alongside my head,
And withdrew from the pounding
With shards in my chest
And blood painting my arm.

I wore this new appearance
As a knight does their armor:
Fully aware of the stereotypes that need to be fulfilled,
But confident enough to revel in the reality
Behind a reflective mask.

So I took time for myself
As villagers and passersby
Took time to see themselves In the reflection of my silver anxieties
And the warrior-like figure that they projected
On these instabilities.

As I began to write
And journal on the hillside of my mind,
I noticed the setting sun,
And the beauty that hinged
In the sparseness
Before darkness.

A ray of sunlight glinted the shards still shading my skin,
And I,
No longer feeling revitalized by my red appearance,
Removed the words that cut me so
And ventured into a discotheque.

Let it be known that by the final song,
The mirage of people will vanquish the premises,
And leave a hollowness coated in sweet mercury
That is polarizing and deadly.

And let it be known that by the final song,
The mirage of alter-egos will vanquish the mind,
And leave a hollowness coated in misunderstanding
That is deadly if not properly arrogated.

WHEN I AWOKE, I FOUND A NEW LANGUAGE ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE.
AND YOU WERE GONE.
AND I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD:
YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN, KID

Graham