They Don't Get The Rare One

I see them coming in and out of here all day

Together, alone, together, alone

I see them twenty years ago and ten years ago and fifteen minutes ago

Images of drives up and down different coasts on the United States

Memories of freezing cold mornings

Hot dry and dusty afternoons

Early evenings with the fading sun turning their hair to gold

I hurt every single one of them and they have no idea

I keep secrets they will never know

I throw an obvious scent down on the left and go right

I hurt every single one of them before they can even consider hurting me

These disgusting situations

These intense conversations and cries for help

All of them a facade as I turn to the right and make decisions for other people

I pull them one direction so they can’t see what is happening the other direction

They come in and out of my head all day

I imagine what I can do

I imagine ways to destroy them all

I remember every single instance

I have notebooks filled with the most horrible ideas

Worse poetry and prose than this

A bunch of sentences and short ideas with no flow at all like this one right here it just looks cooler and is easier to read

They are all out of my head now, all of them

I have to push them

Please leave my head please leave my head please leave my head be gone be gone be somewhere else please I beg of you

I see them all day in pictures and in memories of a thousand meals

Sitting across from each other laughing at my jokes

Watching the room

Watching your hands and how they lie

Watching your eyes and how they lie

Watching myself

Making sure all my stories are dotted and crossed

Making sure I cleaned up all of my messes

Laughing to myself about nothing

There is space between all of them

There are stories that accompany every single one of them

There is bullshit that will accompany every single one in the future

There are lies that are happening now that will be told to me five years from now

Right this very minute thousands of miles from me is not me

Right this very minute the sweetest man I thought I could be is not me

Right this very minute in another place every song and word I wrote never existed

Right now this very minute way over there I feel like I have been torn in half

Right now, and probably for the next day or two my head will operate

My head will create quite possibly the worst possible things I could ever imagine

All of these nightmares will ruin my weekend

All of these dreams I had

All of these dreams I wrote down

All of these ideas and plans I had

They were incorrectly written

All those nights when nightmares were my reality

I dreamed of her and I by the water

The moon over the bay is half full

I fell asleep to this every night for months in Massachusetts

My only escape route was this dream

My only good dream, every night

If I create a new dream, will it remain just that?

God I hope.