the ocean

well man, 17 seems awfully young to have your heart broken

but then

i guess 70 might seem so too.

quick as a blink you'll find yourself washed up in tinted bones and pleas that will make your stomach turn, years later. there will be crawling and black streaks and requests to ignore the subject. but you'll cling as you swing from you convictions up up and away

we were born

to taint each others blood

make it bloom at thrown-away memory jogs

and insist

"but i am happy"

and before you know it, you'll find yourself between waking and sleeping and sleeping and dreaming and dreaming and emptiness and anyways, that is just my experience, as the product of a stolen season swollen with hollow beats and hazy desires to feel, you know---him.

outside of the sea, we're strange and awkward and our tongues hurt

but you and i both know, you and i both live with one thing:

you are going to chase my memory until you die. and then i will chase yours.