on the Northern Line

She would've let me..

and so here I sit on the Northern Line,
surrounded by people,
but smiling anyway
as I think of her
and wonder if she knows...

that knowing that I could've

is almost as beautiful
as if I had.

chapstick

I cling to the fading scent,
& get the sense of an atmosphere
similar to that of
trying determinedly to chew the last pockets of flavor from
a piece of greyed gum,
 
and, again, the world has mirrored the external to the in,
creating a perfect metaphor for itself.

Is it really time that this was spit out?
And if it is, who is at fault for this atrocity,
this robbery of the beauty
and peace
and light
and direction, which I remember now,
which cuts through the tiredness & desperation it has
become
to give me a glimmer of a reminder,
of a hope, and bewliderment...
 
like the eroding of the gum’s commercial, bright beginning,
leaving only the industrial grey
of the lesser mentioned ingredients…
 
is that really what we are built on?
or have we just been chewed to death?

Golightly

There's no doubt that you're Holly,
that defining fear & charm.

And he's your Jose, honey;
ratless, high.

So left to cast is me, well,
what'll it be? Kinda funny
how I still don't know-
Doc, Fred, Paul,
who am I?

rest in peace, Tony Dangerfield

Oh God, the past tense is so ugly;
and all it leaves the present is its lessons.

technicolor

The face of the girl I'm in love with
looks over the fold in a newspaper at me
in my pyjamas
as I mournfully ponder my inadequacies,
things I could never be
and would have to be
for her to love me back.

Surreal.

..but strangely fitting,
now that I think about it;
I'm looking at her now the way I always do-
as one would when admiring a work of art,
behind the importance of a rope,

just too far away.

The girl I'm in love with,
my first love.

Her flawless features high shine through the dull print
and enhance the color quality of my life
in that same unique way her presence can,
from far above;

technicolor from this black and white.

seeing her:

I sat down on my bed,
& crossed my arms across my chest,
& leaned forward ‘till my eyes
just almost kissed my knees.
And that was perfect; couldn’t see the
world-unidealist, painfully.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
The right decisions were so simple before,
when there was nothing really involved on my part;
no emotion but fear.
Now, sitting here, in this life, I almost miss the fear.
It almost seems a luxury now, to be afraid
of having too much so available to me.
An excess of a commodity I did not want,
but had already ordered.

How did I lose her, the last one? That person I know
only I could’ve saved.
I just had to turn around, didn’t I?
and now, the unimaginable, unbearable, she’s gone,
swimming in the Styx of their sickly hands.
So many things I just can’t ask, can’t let myself.
Does it still make her stomach turn?
Or has she forced herself to learn to tolerate it?
She was on the verge. And I had the opportunity to let her
wait it out & make the right decision for her.
But I panicked when I saw her standing there,
who wouldn’t? I tried to save her but
instead I inadvertently pushed her in.

Sometimes I can’t help
thinking that
maybe her lungs aren’t full yet, can’t help longing
for that person I know
she is
or was.
But these are thoughts I push away.
Even if she’s not too far gone (which I know she is),
I’m not the one to save her. I’d just make the same or
another mistake. That’s clear. I just wish this wasn’t how
I had to learn.

the least likely answer to your lack of one

So, here’s what I’m thinking.
In attempted sinking (or descending) order of likelihood.
Perhaps for some reason you don’t have your phone with you,
or maybe it’s not working, but you would.

Or maybe you’ve simply developed a dislike
for the way we’ve been talking lately.
Or maybe I’ve hurt you and somehow
I’m significant enough now that you’re mad at me.
(I can’t see how that could be likely, but see your lackings transferring to me).

But then there’s this,
probably the least likely answer to your lack of one,
but the one that both terrifies and gratifies me more much so than any other one.
There’s the possibility that you just know how much I care.
This could mean that:
-you’re pissed ‘cause you think I’ve only been getting to know you because I think I have a chance (in which case you’re wrong, & I’m offended but don’t blame you.),
or,
-you’re terrified. ‘cause when you realised that I really like you,
it occurred to you that maybe I’m not the only one who wouldn’t mind this going further.