A Warm Place to Self-destruct

by Weasel

  a warm place to self-destruct

  somewhere

  I

  my body quakes underneath the warmth

  of strangling exhaust fumes—

  a chilled sense of spring

  cracks from the ground merged

  with cracks on my feet

  creating a map of miles often traveled

  they were placed in boxes

  left alone in closets

  i’ve never seen them—

  the wrinkles from their pasty skin

  how they smile at their home

  II

  someone just walked across my grave

  i am no longer a collar-up switchblade

  twisting with the ghosts of tattered angels

  i think that maybe, if i pile enough dirt

  i could find the world—

  i just turn deaf

  there are as many burning guitars

  as there are burning doves

  their vibrance rages against the bars of my rib cage

  i lie on the ground

  waiting for earth to welcome me back home

  as the voices burst through

  their words simmering

  into summer back roads

  of a small town

  their gardens are never warm

  enough

  III

  i knew mercy once

  he was a stick of novacain

  into a morphine-filled heart

  lacking enough grace to smile

  it was amazing those nights

  he was happy to see me—

  so i dropped wishes into wells

  hoped for a miracle

  but the manager said there were no refunds

  i stick out my thumb

  hitch-hike all across the world

  for i have been living in the future for too long

  the present has never seen my face

  my shoes are stitched with songs

  about somewhere i’ve never heard of

  but i know i’ve been there before

  if i can lift up my hand

  i can gently touch its surface

  someday bury me there

  underneath its stale utopian waters

  and when my heart returns

  point it to

  somewhere

 

  a dog from hell

  my father said he couldn’t touch a faggot—

  that whenever he had to take their money

  it felt like lice was crawling up his body

  i prayed his words

  would lay rocks in my stomach

  each time a school boy crush

  invaded my thoughts

  i wanted to drown

  every insect in my body

  so i could remain a person

  after dinner i would drip

  a few drops of bleach on my tongue

  thinking it could purify

  the wrong blood inside me

  we revolved around him

  my father—the sun

  and we were planets

  he shed light on

  when the alcohol ran dry

  the brightest star is always the coldest

  quaking with anger

  sprinkling broken glass

  and ripped drywall

  he couldn’t touch us

  yet we dream of the blood

  oozing from debris

  on burnished days

  i found myself in the grass some mornings

  dew setting in my clothes

  i was becoming transparent

  the evils of light

  were forcing me to self-destruct

  you have to love yourself in the darkness

  when the sun calls you worthless

  and when i finally came out

  i wondered if he felt

  the bugs waking

  she hung half full above us

  i remember fucking him

  in the back of a taco cabana

  at three in the morning

  end of his shift

  end of my meal

  our eyes told us

  all we needed to know

  it’s funny how much our eyes

  give ourselves away

  tell the world we’re broken inside

  when we want to keep straight-faced

  and monotonous

  because we can’t be broken in public

  he wore cinnamon brown skin

  tight around his bones

  curly hair hidden with uniform baseball caps

  because tacos require solidarity

  from the employees

  we didn’t know our names

  we needed to be anonymous

  this was not something we could hold on to

  this was only carnal action

  our bodies were exposed to the stars

  but we didn’t care

  after i pushed him

  over the garbage can

  my hand smoothed

  his spine

  he closed his eyes

  as we connected

  little trombone wailing

  from his teeth

  he was not quiet

  but how quiet is the moon

  when she hangs half full above us

  promising that she’ll be full again

  that it’s only one bad day

  out of a month, out of a year

  slowly dimming until nothing is left

  there’s supposed to be balance in our rebirth

  but we only get rickety footsteps—

  stutters leaving our tongues

  unable to communicate with other folks

  that we’re sick

  that we’re dying

  we have forgotten each other

  drifted with time

  but some nights

  i still smell grease

  pulse

  lighting a cig

  i lean against a moss-covered brick wall

  there’s a man across from me

  hands outstretched

  trembling for change

  people slither past

  ignore his problems

  this man holds worn eyes in his skull

  his hope for a meal dies off

  my smoke drifts to clouds filled with water

  they wait to give birth

  the bus stalls at the stop

  its engine squeals

  people push themselves against the window

  mouthing for help

  their tears drip down the glass

  emergency lights start flashing

  drivers honk angrily

  thunder rolls smoothly overhead

  police and medics arrive

  they surround the bus guns drawn

  they enter swiftly

  two young teens are escorted out

  one hand cuffed

  another bleeds on a stretcher

  hunger

  i see him digging through trash

  while i gas my car

  rose stems for fingers

  searching for little crumbs we take for granted

  his eyes are filled with a weariness

  only the desperate would understand

  hunger fueling his frenzy

  in the frozen air

  i’ve seen him before

  every morning

  under the freeway

  sleeping through i-45 traffic and construction

  workers ignore him

  knowing there is no other place

  he can call home

  he digs through torn credit card receipts

  and spoiled yoohoo cartons

  only to find hunger deep

  within the bottom of a bag

  body quivering

  he turns

  wanders off

  sleep should come to him soon

  but what comfort is slumber

  when winter attacks

  i shake the final droplets of
fuel

  grab my uneaten sandwich

  nimble fingers snatch it away

  saying nothing

  we depart with minor comforts

  the church of fast food

  i’m at a taco bell

  watching a guy suck out the insides

  of a cardboard-filled burrito—

  sour cream sticks to his lips

  cheese drips to barely clean table tops

  his hands wrap firmly around its shaft

  as if it were the best

  goddamn thing to touch his lips

  his teeth gnaws processed tortillas

  and squirts of beef and beans

  like he was eating out god’s asshole

  this was his hour of meditation

  of enlightenment

  finding prayer inside each viscous bite

  while pictures of tacos hang in windows

  they look nothing like what he’s molesting

  but we’re told it’s good to eat anyway

  this is how we kill ourselves

  eating fake burritos

  processed in some lab

  to keep up us addicted

  grease dripping down our throats

  hardening in our hearts

  slowing our bodies

  until we stop breathing

  the sleep that god dreams of on his smoke break

  4am insomnia sits on my chest,

  heart growing confined, i breathe

  in my anxiety in hopes i can

  keep the morning quiet

  they call me sometimes,

  i neglect to answer, they know

  i am there, the collectors know

  everything about me

  i am their prey

  i am their kill—

  their large file they

  can’t let go because

  i have yet to be caught

  but time grows short

  for everyone

  it’s troubling, keeping

  a guitar inside your

  chest aflame while dodging

  shadows in the mail, though

  i am not the only body

  they are after

  i am simply the first prayer

  among the dissonance, the

  first feeling of desperation

  being killed by a morning

  cigarette, yet self-medicating

  is only a temporary fix

  to keep the voices at bay

  they’ll find me out there

  gone mad, gone nameless

  reaching for embers

  when i was in 6th grade my ma took

  me to church, prayed the childhood

  outta me while the preacher told us

  he catches letters from heaven

  tellin’ him we’re all sinners, that

  we’re all disappointing our father

  he tells us that when jesus returns,

  when the clouds are embers hovering

  the blue, it’ll be beautiful; that

  destruction is balance between rebirth

  it scared me, made me hold

  tight for my mother, but i was in 6th grade

  and i wasn’t supposed to have a mother,

  only an overseer

  to make sure the man in me

  don’t cry because men don’t cry

  so i let her go, let her distance

  herself while i became codependent

  on caffeine and staying awake at night

  i fell in love

  one too many times

  with the wrong kind of people

  became addicted to warmth and dingy water

  because i couldn’t be alone when the end hit,

  just like the preacher said,

  i couldn’t be alone when i finally gave out

  but the names on my chest

  are weeds, late night

  fuck fests and jack daniels

  from the bottle

  my father never understood

  what it was like to hold onto someone

  i’m still unsure if i

  but people are like heroin

  too broke to be put together again

  i still look for embers

  when the sun sets,

  still share beds with puzzles,

  though i have yet to return

  to the pews that crippled me

  i’m growing whole

  with someone who makes

  all the ticks dissolve,

  but my body quakes

  when dreaming

  of the voices

  that have led me here

  the taste of debris before the storm

  my father and i drive

  through waterfalls

  tires skating across asphalt

  while ditches turned into miniature lakes

  the engine roars with hysteria

  we slide past cars

  and between lanes

  he keeps his foot on the gas

  to kill the silence between us

  i watch his arms

  hold earthquakes

  against the wheel

  not knowing the feeling of being sober

  in my mind i race with words to say

  but i cannot talk to him

  he is awake

  waiting to turn ground into rubble

  there is a hell inside of him

  i never wanted to cross

  like the day he punched

  holes in the bedroom walls

  i never thought thunder

  could be heard through sunshine

  we remain distant

  continuously pushing

  farther out from the horizon

  he is a darkness

  i cannot touch

  tires shriek

  i leave the car

  head to the school

  head to freedom

  fire

  soak me in kerosene,

  light me on fire

  and watch me drown

  before i burn

  our bodies shake and squirm together

  spasmodic flames growing violent

  in our rhythm

  we must have danced all night

  hands touching, grabbing

  caressing each other

  but we never said a word

  connections

  we used to fuck

  now you shoot orgasms

  through dick pics

  and sleazy texts

  while i try to remember

  the feel of warm flesh

  this is our nightlife

  carried in the palms

  of our hands

  when i smooth your pale frame

  over the dank linen

  i could feel your shadow losing breath

  i could feel the beats stop beneath my chest

  you only wanted the rush of a fantasy

  you never wanted

  to share the small death

  waiting when we finish

  our last breath

  walking under navy skies

  our hands brush through leaves

  carrying our last breath

  between our palms

  to the river

  you were tired of purgatory

  said you needed to learn

  the art of balance

  before finding peace in me

  but i am a seed

  trapped in skin

  drowning with an appetite

  for your blessing

  when my hand loses you

  my mouth becomes a graveyard

  burying words in steel caskets

  when your figure

  is no longer in sight

  the caskets rust

  the words decay

  and i realize

  we were only a dream

  how the stars say fall

  we are rose stems under the clouds

  fragile to their weight

  naked to their
touch

  we are addicted to destruction

  some selling hearts to hatred

  while others become victims to lead

  shooting through their voices

  we are shells afraid of blood

  pumping oceans of anger through our veins

  breathing our own smoke

  look at the moon

  at how the curves smooth over us

  how many souls have gone searching for her

  how many names are carved on her surface

  she is a reminder of our dead

  a reminder that the best get lost in her craters

  poetry ripped from their veins

  graves growing dusty

  they’ve become stars

  pebbles not strong enough

  to skip across

  they whisper down from the skies

  though we are not able to hear them

  we’ve bottled up ourselves

  so we cannot be influenced by the body bags

  lingering in the air

  we do not want to hear them speaking

  what we all want

  if you close your eyes

  you can hear them

  love me, love me, love me

  our last days

  where did your mind go before

  you draped your flesh over smooth linen?

  the vultures peer through frosted windows,

  knowing you are empty; that they can vomit

  up your bones after devouring what you have

  left behind, they say they eat the eyes first to ensure

  you don’t come back, knowing that there

  are souls who make it to purgatory and fear

  what they have become; ghosts are littered

  around us. one wonders if they remember anything

  we can all imagine why your breath lingers

  on the indentions of the mattress, but we

  already know, we are our own tragedies that

  haven’t burst yet; little grenades tick tick

  ticking beneath our hearts, waiting for it

  to pile; for us to make our peace, but we

  are human, we teach ourselves to

  misunderstand, to confuse, to keep

  the morning precious because we

  cannot disturb ourselves

  mother of all things, you lie there,

  curves in place because you wanted

  us to remember the grace you carried

  with you always, we are to never forget

  how simple you were, or how the refinement

  of your character fell from your fingertips,

  you were beauty, and we were the followers

  who could only remember this,

  never who you were; never your name

  we’ll bury you tomorrow, you’ll grow

  flowers after time passes

  how light tastes without direction

  i’m at the pawn shop. guitar and camera in hand. need fast cash for items i won’t remember next month, but pawning the camera hurts me. i wonder if i’ll feel better when it leaves my hands, sometimes you have to kill a part of yourself that likes to create in order to survive. you can’t always be a photographer and eat. you can’t always be a poet and keep your car in the garage.

  but that’s life. let it go so you can live, so you can pay the fuckin’ bills and eat three meals a day. have some world class kids and be a growing member of your community.

  the guy behind the counter is cute. light brown flesh, eyes filled with boredom and scenes of too many folks coming in with problems. he don’t fuck nobody with problems, but boy, everyone’s got them. you just don’t know it yet.

  i am wishing i could smoke as he looks over the items. time ticking away as my eyes browse around a store filled with guns, gold and guitars. guns. gold. guitars.

  he’s too used to this. too used to giving folks chump change to help them through their day because you can’t get real money for a gun, y’all. you’ll only get fucked for gold. guitars are not welcome in this country. we’re no musicians. we’re americans. fat and grease flowing through our veins, diabetes lingering in our bodies. we can’t fucking live much longer. but how can anyone fix this shit if we are not willing to wake the fuck up?

  we just wish it away, but wishing is only false hope waiting to explode.

  he gives me my money. i tell him he’s cute, for what it’s worth. we won’t ever see each other again.

  the first breath you take after giving up

  you were a body bag,

  making coffee in the

  kitchen, pale morning

  eyes tripping over

  flat surfaces

  you had forgotten to

  unzip yourself, to

  let go of the hymnals

  building up inside

  your hands looked

  as if you had lost

  a fist fight with

  fine china, blood

  dancing over striped

  tile, sometimes we

  forget we’re all like

  windows, easily broken

  the first breath you take

  after giving up is like

  falling asleep while the

  fires are still going

  you never asked if the

  flames would die, you

  only mentioned how

  beautiful they looked

  when you closed your eyes

  temptation

  i met the guy on craigslist

  3am internet browsing

  and his advert said all the right words

  it said he wanted someone to take control

  he wanted some pushy asshole to submit to

  something more than a quick fuck

  so i hit him up

  blasted him with emails

  filled with electronic sperm

  to preview a good time

  some folks don’t understand

  the desire to control

  or the desire to submit

  they only know of trending films

  plastic handcuffs

  and a flimsy dog collar

  to make the bedroom interesting

  i wanted control—

  wanted him to wear my collar

  because some demons just feel right

  and he wanted to suck them all out of me

  he was obedience

  i led myself further into unknown temptation

  making it to his door

  knocking my way into the final line of the abyss

  silence

  i howl under the moon

  as my footsteps slam

  down cement steps

  heroin

  my therapist said

  i should empty the bad dust

  piling up in my skull

  i tried to peel it back

  in order to scoop the mess out

  but jackals are too addicted

  to their demons

  so i light up in the parking lot

  to cure the remains

  i failed to take out

  but self-medication

  can’t erase your taste

  from my past

  purgatory

  it’s not just a movie

  or a passing fad

  hovering in self-discussion

  some desires are too addicting to let go

  intertwining themselves

  around your appetite

  and allowing the best its freedom

  we chat online

  firing words of eagerness

  of how willing you are to kneel

  mute begging infests me

  pumps fuel into the craving

  i cannot let go

  hotels are the world’s purgatory

  sins left in their walls

  washed away in the morning

  and forgotten

  such is our nature

  but you are not the quick fling

 
you are obedience

  the mother of happiness

  serving your alpha

  serving me

  when i lock you into your collar

  you will become owned

  become fulfilled

  and led further into temptation

  when i bring you into my home

  i leave you naked

  exposed

  for you are now the object

  of which my desires will be acted upon

  you yearn for them

  for the anarchy

  hiding in the abyss

  we think we know what snow looks like when it falls

  walking downhill

  feet cling to slippery sidewalks

  as snow falls

  you huddle against me

  while we try to keep balance

  i want to ask you

  if these skies have always carried

  the grey of ourselves

  but i stay silent

  fearing your answer

  my father always told me

  not to trust anyone else

  people are like weeds

  you can rarely pull them out

  once they’ve gotten in

  so i learned not to talk with people

  sewing my lips each year

  to keep from being infected

  we crawl downward

  towards a coffee shop at the end of the hill

  could you hear my heart stop

  underneath the steel of my chest

  could you feel the skips

  each time your hand brushed my arm

  i can’t peel it back for you

  it’s tradition in the family

  to lock the muscle into place

  and save face when you want to open yourself up

  we hang out in the drive-thru

  no lobby to fight this cold

  i think about how you would taste if i kissed you

  drivers honk at us

  because we are not cars

  only bodies that mesh together

  maybe they are bitter

  seeing two men entangled

  uncomfortable with the idea

  that we may be lovers

  but these drivers have everything

  they got jobs

  they got kids

  and every other goddamn thing in this world

  and they want us out their damn way

  so they can get their booster shot

  to get them through the day

  and we have nothing

  i wanted to fuck you here

  in the drive-thru

  anger still blasting at us

  while i strip you down

  to the pale white skin

  what would these bastards think then

  i am selfish

  learning about desire

  craving a taste

  like every time i see a cigarette

  lying on the ground

  though you will never know this

  you swallowed the balance in my steps

  made my rebirth wobbly

  we grab our oil

  walk back up hill

  bodies warming

  the grey gets harsh in the clouds

  as you slowly loosen yourself from me

  our words never existed

  lame is a blindfold keeping you

  from seeing; a mask to shelter

  you from being injured from

  the rejection, only it never happened.

  you disguised yourself, dorky

  as you were, and i got lost

  in the emptiness of your fear.

  we were ninjas, swift

  to catch the dust from our

  dreams, ready to dissolve

  into the darkness when they

  failed to see any light.

  our song had no words, we

  were not ready for the

  commitment of them; we

  never were. we were only

  prepared to stay hidden

  and play the deaf musician

  when we opened slivers of our flesh.

  i regret you, yet i know you

  will never leave. you were

  a luxury i could never afford,

  but it was beautiful when you

  were able to see me.

  if i weren’t so blind, maybe

  i would have seen the art behind

  your smile, but my eyes are

  merely cotton balls, too soft

  to see what beauty really is.

  it was your imprint, it

  told me you were alive,

  of the fire brewing in

  your chest, but the

  smoke was too far in

  the distance. my hands

  could not reach you.

  we are all time, hearts

  pumping in the wind

  waiting to feel what it

  is to live.

  you dissolved from me,

  i lost my breath when

  the sands fell through

  my fingers. our dance

  was not meant to start.

  but I am still here, waiting

  to feel your voice; waiting

  for your whispers to linger.

  i have out grown myself—

  i’m afraid of the walls

  i’ve broken as i wait.

  the story of adam

  when the rain

  steals from us another song

  we play along, we sing along

  when the sky

  wraps around us her skeleton bones

  we sing along, we carry on

  you stand there

  at the edge of my doorstep but I’m not there

  my body’s home my mind is gone

  somewhere…