I poured my heart at some train station

There you are, waiting for the train like you've waited and waited for your heartbeats to become steady. I hope you have that floral scarf that smells too much like mum around your neck and I hope it doesn't suffocate you like mum unintentionally did. 

What is it this time? Did some lover do you wrong or is New York just getting brighter by the second? And oh my, you love the city lights more than you love the smell of home and coffee shops fused together on your pulse points and close to the heart, don't you?

You asked one day if God is so forgiving that if you repeatedly set your insides on fire and exploded so beautifully like thousands of fireworks on the 4th of July he would be understanding like a good God with all his seven skies and when I told you that He is more forgiving than you'll ever be, you got so mad you watched your pieces unravel. And typically, you haven't forgiven yourself for being the person you are. 

You keep speaking about how the world will never wholeheartedly understand you because you too often run out of words to say, but I know your anatomy more than anyone else and believe me when I tell you that your body says more than you'll ever get to hear.

Your hair can't always stay put unless you want it to. And your eyes, your eyes always long for the world and I'll never understand why. Moreover, your head isn’t the warmest place to be and your clenched fist is too damn small to be the size of your beating heart. 

I know you. I know you and I know how you take your coffee in the morning. I know that those railways will never be the answer to all your prayers and that the train is never coming by unless you leave this city on the best terms you can. I know you and I know that even with the curtains drawn, with a pen in one hand and your heart in another, you can write with your eyes closed. I know you and I know why you're writing this, so you might as well just forgive yourself and stop waiting for the goddamned train.

Lay me to rest or let me flee, I don't settle for in-betweens.

September 20 or 20 something

Jump back to September, 2014

Pick a day

Any day.

The 20th

Am I ready to bring this up one more time?

Am I ready to reminisce?

I am not,

but my hands are.

See, they are committed to memories that dawn did not take away from me...yet.

September, 20 or 20 something, 2014

You were standing, 

waiting, 

stuttering, 

shaking

I was elsewhere, 

nowhere, 

not there 

fading 

into thin air.

I was a city and you were just a town

I couldn't look down 

I was big, alive, and blooming

and my god did you look so gloomy

You named me after a drug.

Was it methamphetamine, heroin, cocaine?

or did I only feed on your pain?

I then met you and you smelled like gin

or some sort of sadness that lies within

you said "leave" and I didn't dare.

I thought you needed a shoulder to lean on

But oh my, I know a train wreck when I see one

September, 20 or 20 something

My common sense had died in vain

September knows no rain

you must have known better than to become the hurricane

Cold, hollow and drugged I remain

and him, I became.

Last December I called his name,

I waited,

stood,

stuttered

and shook.

He was elsewhere

everywhere

and a small death lay here and there

I said "leave" and he was sorry.
His lips were moving but my head was starry.

And so we faded by the end of the year

I still wait but he's not here.
Saudade, saudade, saudade.
I've grown ancient since that day.