This is the new normal
the neverending story
a different couch but the same
and I don’t need any pills to get through the day.
You taught me how to hold my breath indefinitely
how to need no one, or rather
how to remember what I already knew,
but then you died
and that wasn’t supposed to happen.
You are dead.
I have killed you now.
Or maybe you killed yourself.
The point is, you’re no longer breathing
even though your heart still beats.
We held your funeral outside
in the smoke
while talking about how much we hate funerals.
I mourned you on the ride home and remembered
when you used to send me sad poems
and bad videos
and confide in me about everything,
even problems with your wife.
Especially problems with your wife.
When I was the only one you told things to.
When you said I could save you.
I tried to save you so many times
but now I see that I’ve failed.
You don’t have problems anymore.
You carry newspapers in your backpack
and party in South County.
You’re more important,
but only in a place
that’s become pointless.
You focus on things that don’t matter
so you’ll never have to think
about things that do.
You talk fast and walk faster,
always rushing to nowhere.
(And I’ve watched this happen before
I know life can go on long after you die
I knew mom was dead at the mall years before her body left an indentation
on the sheets)
But in the end it looks like you dying may have saved me.
Remember when we used to write poems and send them to each other?
Remember when we used to write poems?
How long has it been since you’ve written?
It’s been years for me and I think I died for awhile too.
Thank you for bringing me back to life.
In the breezeway
In between place
He said he’d make a good god
And looking back I wonder
Who the fuck says things like that
But then something inside
Made me want to throw up
The omelette he made
or the faraway look
Like that first night in the field
When he contemplated all his names
Too much of him everywhere
And I slowly started to disappear