Catastrophe Jones

I remember you

and what it was
you were selling.
I remember the days,

all 365 of them,

starting out plain,
ending in space,
ending with blood
and surrealism

and the faint tang of self-disappointment.

I remember the gut churning,
and the panic inducing,
and all the hate,

all the hate,

all the ways I couldn’t
peel out of myself
fast enough to please me.

God, I wish I could just

lose the last twenty years

and change just a touch,
just a little,
here and there.

Not much.

Not much,
but I wish I hadn’t
wasted so much time

wishing I were you,

because let’s face it,
how would it have been better,

really?

If I’d slipped away earlier
and harnessed all that power for good,
instead of letting it drip away

into the peaches

and the cigarette ends

and the corner desks

and the briefcases

where we hid the paper
and the test tubes
they were never supposed to find,

if maybe I had managed
to kiss a little harder
and hold on a little tighter

instead of let the malt

carry me away from myself

maybe

just maybe

I would have an easier time with pride.

Maybe.

Tell me then,

what you might have said
a hundred thousand times before,

when I looked over,
and I knew your tongue
was heavy
with the weight of words
I kept wishing
would

fall

free.

Tell me then,

what you might have done
at least once,

at least that once,

that one night
I asked for it,

that one night
you put your hand

between us,

not because
you didn’t want it,

not because
of that,

but because
I had not asked
with the right words.

Tell me then,

what you might have wished for, yourself,
all the times we laid on the roof to watch the stars,

the cigarettes
and gloves
and whisky

the only thing between us.

Tell me then,

how I am the only thing real,
when nothing about me is,

and all I am
is an ink-stained heart
that bears your careless fingerprints.

Don’t say anything,
that shit splatters,

what did you think would happen?

no reason
to get it on you.

why were you there anyway?

Don’t invite that
into your life.

why do you have to make it so hard on yourself?

I’m your friend.
I’m your friend.

why don’t you just listen?

I believe them, but
I’m your friend.

why can’t you ever just do what you’re told?

You probably
should not have

why would you bring this on yourself?

made so many
so angry.

why would you think this is all about you?

Don’t say anything.
Don’t say anything–