Within The Fade
no souvenir in hand, but a tattooed wrist
Everyone's got that person in their life
who can’t see the reflection of their own potential.
reminding you that time is a clairvoyant kind of conveyor belt
how important it is to dodge mundane bullshit
trash-talking exes more than once a week,
and to be less obvious when it comes to sobering up
that kinda friendship, that forces you to count your age.
her last goodbye, I do not remember.
How easy she made leaving seem
How heinous each hiatus, her anti tethered personality.
A civilized hybrid, attempting to be a giant. not a calendar girl.
Grandiose focus, a discredit to all other seasons.
Flat footed and breathtakingly unattractive, by industry standards.
I do remember
How proud she was of herself.
In a previous life, she was probably a pistol.
A guilty product of divorce.
remorse as a vagabond excuse used to deny right now a fair chance.
Too bad she knew, we would turn her into the noose.
Like we always did, with people who stick around.
Perhaps, she had better adjectives in mind than a cathartic scapegoat for privilege.
Perhaps she was a mirage.
not to be taken seriously.
When I was five my mother took us to mass and on the car ride home
we noticed what the gospel failed to mention.
There is no better paradigm than an immoral, complex, and intelligent woman.
consider that truth the next time your limited vocabulary has no better comeback than
“that’s what she said”
This is an effort to tie up loose ends.
To make an exit out of a superficial wound.
because you can’t be what you can’t see, and
there just isn’t enough time to fix what hasn’t been broken yet
I am learning there are no detours to places worth going.
I am learning the path is paved with words said outloud and unspoken.