People read this thing. I see that from the counter dealy-o but I wonder who they are.
Strange.

I sent her a text today.
I feel somehow that I failed this test of friendship.
Maybe that person is just over.
I guess I should stop being concerned about boundaries and spaces.
We just are not going to be friends.
That is a weird feeling.
That a strange conclusion.
But perhaps a true one.

Then time stretches out and all your mad passion sleeps exhaled sighs are left from burnt bridges to matchbooks eyes roll I now know

Frienemy.

For a person with whom the whole world is open arms and potential friendship, someone who is not a friend takes effort and concentration. You have all my focus.

fuck you fuck you fuck you the effort, I put into trying to make it bearable being around as I tried to relearn a life with you in it and you cast me out fuck you fuck you fuck you I never want to see you again I am sick of trying

I guess it is time. I need to face up. If I don't talk to someone I will probably do something terrible. I am not one to hurt anyone else so, yeah. And when I think about making my pain stop, it hurts to think of what it would do to everyone else. So, time to see someone. For real.

The bridge.

As he drove over the bridge he slowed and very nearly stopped. The pain in his chest had told him to just stop, get out and jump. How close he had come to that listening to that scared him solid and he cried silently all the way to his driveway. He spent the next hour sobbing in his car, terrified by himself. He went inside and cried himself to sleep thinking of what it would have done to the woman he used to live with, the friends he did now, and the girl who had just broken his heart. One more way to use the whip instead of the carrot.

Big Steps

Laundry day, met her with my best Jolly Miller, cracked joyful jaw anyway.

Firm feelings were melted butter in a pan.


Many tiny steps to my apartment, but they felt bigger because of who I climbed beside .

Actually with her they were huge steps, like climbing Mt. fucking Everest.

Lunch; three servings, three plates for no lovers, two friends and two strangers

Four locked eyes blinked the rhythm of cooling heated hearts like a pies on a sill

We converse like dry martinis

In a place where things are made clean I drag us through mud, arm-in-arm through hedge-mazed words.

Mocking walls painted a rainbow of Easter’s bile, we looked backward onto emptiness and then spoke.

More a sigh than a kettle my anger whistled from my teeth and tried at her ears to settle.


We are crying children against the whistling.

At the Laundromat climbing Mt. Fucking Everest. Stomach drops with each huge step.
And then goodbye.


I am running hallways laid in misery and memory.

Close under Easter, nude and half frozen covered in salt, sand and sun.

Epileptic feet kick from a recent ocean floor and I swim in the October waves with her again.


Pushing through spider silk we both fled our proximity with practiced farewells.


At her arms I felt my stomach drop.

No tether here at the mountain.


Niobe is me.

She said my name. I wanted her to return to me. Love me.

Her bike. My garage. She needed a key. But not my arms.

Stone headed and half mute I bled water.

Like a fisher she hooked the keys from my pocket.


She that cast me out has gathered me up.

Arms like quilts, faces like plates we were folded and stacked breathing as one.

Teary eyes stared into our suns and our lips touched.

October turned back to July, words, and hurts lost to the thrum of our hearts.



At her lips I am climbing my steps again somehow.

The largest steps I had ever known.

All the way to Everest.



Her kisses were a tiger, she would not be caged or kept

She fled what would have been,

And as Eros ran, where I could have wept for want I smiled instead for the small death between our hearts.


A mirrored Jolly Miller pantomime stares at my tear stained ghost and a staircase lives between.


But not forever.

There are more big steps ahead.

Mt. Fucking Everest, I have found a guide.

Fantasy

There will be no final confrontation. Nor a chance to win her back or prove your love. She doesn't care enough to miss you. Your illusions otherwise are a fiction you designed to hurt yourself. Grow up. Harden your heart, and move on.

Could you ever know?

If you ever knew, what I selfishly held to, but now I decide.

Dr. Who

I left you in bed, but I wish your smile was here, beside me in time.

Small decisions, large deaths.

I took your picture. Gazing upon it I fell... And continue to.

The night before you left town.

Words that crush like bolts She said something cruel, he cried She lived a past life

Watching the iceberg.

Insecurity.

Today

Is not the day I thought it was.  A week more to celebrate your life and mourn your passing.

If

If I run from this, who will step from the door, and will you still be there?

Insecurity. Fingers open, hands release. I turn and see your smile, but a blinding crack of the fallout waits ahead. We may as well be blindfolded skeletons. Just bones going through the motions as we dance towards where we shall be entombed. One day we will look back at pictures and know that we were once truly alive.

Reasons to be thankful.

The operation (pace maker) for my grandfather's heart has finally taken hold. He will probably regain much of strength and fortitude. As for his memory of me? Of my face? I don't know. But I still love the old guy. In the face of the bleak and sad thing that is Gavin's death there is one small glimmer. It is that I get to let him go. I get to go to the gathering where others are saying goodbye and let him move on. I never did that with Jerry, and now he gets free rent in my head. Not that I would ever take back one of our chats outside the doors of Del Oro for anything. I get to go make coffee for a bunch of people I love today, and do it really well, and feel appreciated. How about that? Pretty good. I have had the opportunity to be with such quality partners in my life that I would spend time missing and lamenting their absence. Thanks Shaya, Thanks Kim. I guess another reason to find thanks is that Bill Kiley is releasing more tunes: http://billkiley.bandcamp.com/

In my head I imagine that when you don't want to talk to me it is because there is something wrong with me. Or because you actually want to leave me and are scared to do it. Or that you you are stalling to have a conversation where you can politely say goodbye rather than do it in an email or over the phone. But what I know is that there is nothing wrong with me, and that I am lovable, despite my fears that perhaps I am not. I also know that you are not the type of person who would let their fear make their decision for them. And because of our exchanges earlier I think you know that if it were over between us, I would prefer to know by text as soon as you made the decision. So where does that leave us? It leaves you healing from some hurt left on you by two previous awful lovers and a toxic male boss who put poison in your mind. And it leaves me longing to hold you, help you, and just be with you. They say the average time to get over a life change is about three months. I hope I don't have three months ahead of me.

I wait but I am not patient like I wish I could be. I have never been stoic. If you were to know that my thoughts have been haunted by you these past days would you turn away? I feel the temptation to harden my heart, and turn all of my feelings into anger, something to protect myself from grief with, but if you are to return to me open armed I can not hope to ever embrace you again with a stone cold face. Yet is it sex alone for you? If so, I can make it that. But, often, there is no coming back. For now it us an us thing.

Time to tell you the truth

I am giving you what you need at the cost of starving myself. I need you now, and I can't ask. I just have to carturize my reliance on others.

I need

I am giving you space at the.cost of us.

Hands.

Their eyes meet from across the room.
It feels like they both just hit a big drop in road going fast.
They walk quickly towards each and their faces light up like signal fires.
"Hey big brother." she says with all warmth in the world.
"Missed you too little sis." he says as he wraps his arm around her shoulder.
They walk out the door arm and arm against the world, as it always was.

It's a trap.

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Mistakes

I have made a few mistakes recently and my heart feels broken.
But I have quit smoking again. Day 7 today.

21 year old porn model.

With the thundering drunk that only an American can bring to the table she pushed her face against his and bit his cheek. She slapped him across the face multiple times and choked him. Her motions were rough and sloppy drunk, while his were gentle and sober. Half way through he went limp. Not because she was not beautiful, or because she was not exciting, but because her form of excitement was boring. He had lived it out when he was ten years younger. Luckily she stroked his cock back to life with her able lips. Unluckily she never stopped choking and slapping him.