Midnight Serenades


me on ur bike

It’s the charm of her words and assurance of what she is/wants that fascinates me, he symbolizes the confidence of building, caging vulnerability. It gets heavy for her to tell me what she feels and I get that, she does it all wrong and all the decisions she’s made are out of truth. In the end he gets nothing. I try and try and bruise my chest to remind me how hard it hurts. Seeing is believing. He tells me I need to remind myself because I’m so forgetful. It’s not that I don’t want to pay attention and don’t want to get to know what motivates you, really it’s me taking in the moment of seeing you for the last minute and hour because I don’t think I’ll make it to tomorrow and all I want to remember is her silken skin and the wave of seas in her hair the songs you sing to her. All she ever wanted was company and all I ever wanted was to stay. 

What am I even going to wear? I can’t even fuck with this weather. 

It’s what I’ve wanted for a while now, maybe something I’ve truly fantasized about. I’ve worked out some details into an actual plan but feelings get in the way, they always do. Someone gets hurt, someone misses, grieves, pained by absence, the unknown is such a cynical thing to the mind, manipulating tones, stories, words, perspective and the true definition of someone you thought you knew. Doubt. I’m too soft, I care too much about how you feel, how she and he feel, how they’ll feel, maybe that’s why I’m unhappy. And I seek the solitude, to disintegrate the haze, to only feel for myself, the selfish need to fulfill something no one will or can. I can take my savings and take the Amtrak to the cheapest one way, somewhere with southern charm and sun feeding my need for affection, I always think of the palm trees in Texas and the vast grass lands in Hindsdale. Those hours of silence and unfamiliar places and people was what I can describe as being happy. Because I don’t worry, and I forget the disheartened feelings of being the me I am at home, to them. 

Alfredo sent me a snapchat of my ex, he was going to put a dead bee in her book bag. 


I don’t even think my clothes is going to dry…

When he breaks up with his girlfriend, the one with the mole below her eye. Sometimes from afar it twinkles, we meet at that quiet residential cul-de-sac, with the amble parking lot where I had sex with that 34 year old that once sent me poetry about water (the thirst). He really liked how pink my tits were. It’s the third girlfriend he breaks up with in 2 years. 

I wore the sunburt dress with rainboots. I promised myself I wouldn’t show up for once. however I always tend to break a promise.  


I used to be happy.