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There are a million clichés and analogies
for people like you
Intricately detailed cardiovascular systems,
dawns breaking over horizons, and celestial bodies
All substitutes for “love”
because it was never enough
Because you were always too much
for a four-letter word

But I was still arrogant enough to try
to describe your smile using moonstones
and compare your irises to auroras
Which fails to capture you at your best
when you’re shaking your head, laughing
because I’m desperate
Because I’d do anything
to get your attention, or garner affection

Every day it begins
with the lock and squeak of your car
You approach our front door
My heart races along with your footsteps
and I’m sure my tail would wag
because I still go through withdrawals
Because it’s just not home
without you here

I’m as dumb as my luck, I know
to orbit you for however long
To share your light as you continue
to flourish, to radiate purpose
and joy, and everything worth anything
Because you’re the best decision I ever made
Because you make me, me
I thank you. I love you.

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cognitive.dissonance

the screen/splits/rain
casting strewn drops on a sill
which soak into the wood
becoming nothing more—than stains
to remember this grey day
forever.
where light couldn’t fit through the clouds
to shine,
to remind us of the <good>
in all the ocean,
of the breeze
and the warmth
outside.
if we weren’t so numb/
if we weren’t so scattered

how are we lucky?

and though i don’t believe, i know
i. am. blessed.
to lie beside you,
to have and to hold
the entire world
if only for this moment
with nothing and everything
holding us together.
we are
this statistical anomaly:
two satellites lost,
floating through the cosmos,
to God knows where,
but together,
forever.

how lucky are we?

The Insomniac’s Daydream

He lay there, buried under percale, suffocating,
praying for darkness to seep into his eyes—to escape
one listless day and awaken into the next,
but the night was most cruel when it was peaceful.

The heavy breaths beside him formed tendrils
around his feckless throat and wrists,
shackling him to the stranger who no longer noticed
how desperately he wished they were both alive.

Was he a coward not to speak it? To not mention that
he missed how they would stave off sleep and
kiss each other deeply? To not question why
she only looked at him now, and not through him anymore?

With each passing moment, the chasm grew wider.
She lay there, perhaps unbeknownst, or worse, indifferent,
and he lied then, telling himself she would see him again, someday.
So he stared into blue fog, waiting for oblivion and in it.

The Nerve

I hope you fail
over and over again
I hope you can’t sleep
and that food loses its taste
and that your stomach churns
I hope you have to swallow your pride
and that it’s bitter
and that you question everything
and that you never forget
failure

I hope you fail
because it’s a privilege
to sharpen your tools
Because most are content
mocking aspirations
like some pithy T-shirt
And they’ll patronize you
then ostracize you
because they were always too scared
to try

But fail
Fail because you can
Fail because it’s difficult
Fail because it’s the only way
to get there

Or get comfortable

She Spins

Argent locks and rouge-dipped lips,
A life that’s weighed in profile pics,
Every smile carefully contrived
With charlatans whose laughter’s mimed,
But in-between where guile meets grace
A chasm where she sits and waits
For someone to notice absent eyes,
Veiled by tonic, plagued with lies
She spins

Heavy bags and tips that frayed,
Her only crime is that she caved
To a picket fence, carefully contrived,
And spoiled imps that act deprived,
But before resentment breeds regret
A silent scream to help forget
Who’s responsible for this paradigm,
Mocked by routine, cursed with time
She spins

The years they fade, and so do looks,
A life construed in photo books,
Recycled wisdom, carefully contrived,
Makes a sordid past look dignified,
But just as artifice becomes absurd
Her heart, it flaps, a humming bird,
Because no one’s listening to her lament,
Consumed by dark, paired with contempt
She spins

 

Sick Obit

Sick Obit

The world continues to mourn the day after Timothy Glacier Benson was laid to rest at Trump Memorial Gardens Cemetery and Golf Course in Santa Cruz, California. For those who have been living under a rock recently, Benson, also known as “TiBs,” “Lil’ Frosty,” and “TBenz G Class,” died tragically at the age of 29 following a car accident last week.

Many of Benson’s friends and family gathered with fans outside of the cemetery early yesterday morning, vying for the opportunity to meet celebrities at the funeral’s red carpet. Notable names in attendance included but were not limited to: Kylie Jenner, Nicki Minaj, Chris Brown, Johnny Manziel, Chet Hanks, and Jeff Goldblum. It was the type of star-studded occasion likely to have made the dearly departed Benson feel important, a sensation he often proclaimed he was entitled to during his interviews with the media. Continue reading

Vs. Nature

Sam Cotter’s nerves were frayed by the time his plane landed in Milwaukee. Over the last 96 hours he had relentlessly bounced from terminals to hotel rooms to meetings to bars—all in the name of furthering client rapport. Faces blurred, conversations got lost, and drinks blended together someplace disgustingly dark inside his body. But none of this was of any concern now. He was home, or at least very close to it. That meant he could finally have some time to himself.

As Sam left the airport his adrenaline-addled heartbeat began to fade behind his rib cage. As a result, the faintest of grins could be seen creeping across his face. It hurt. The ceaseless hours of forced smiles and fake laughs had taken their toll on his cheeks. At least he could breathe a sigh of relief knowing work was over, for today.

Continue reading

Growing Pains

I already lost when I found out
That life was small and full of doubt,
And now I yearn for days of yore
When there was wisdom to be ignored

A birth certificate upon a shelf
Collecting dust, all by itself
The years they passed and nothing came
No flashing lights or greater fame

You lectured me, “Don’t grow up quick”
But I was young, a selfish prick
Who took advantage of compromise
Then waited for you to apologize

Karma came, and then it mimed
Now I’m blessed these brats of mine
And when they cop an attitude
I see I owed you gratitude

For time reveals a lifelong struggle
To do what’s right while staying humble
And as I age, respect is earned
And though I’ve grown, I’ve much to learn

Let Them Eat Pie

Abby’s heels clapped politely against the frost-salted driveway as she approached the car. Her head refused to swivel back toward the house where the monsters she called family were still sitting around the dinner table, indignant as ever. Fuck ‘em, she thought as she continued onward in pursuit of Tony.

When Abby reached the passenger side door she paused for a deep breath. After composing herself, she pulled the handle and braced for another potential onslaught of profanity and rage. There was nothing. So far, so good she decided.

The frigid sheet metal rang like gunshot as the door slammed beside her. Silence laced the interior of the car, which felt cavernous and on the verge of collapse. It wasn’t easy for Abby to sit still in the tattered cloth seat as guilt pinched at the nape of her neck, but what other choice did she have?

Tony refused to acknowledge her presence despite being within arm’s reach. He remained lost behind the storm clouds flickering behind his eyes.

Continue reading

Solitary

Caught in the riptide,
Pushed out to sea,
She finds refuge
In an atomic submarine.
A fitting place to curse
Stars as they shine
Before slamming her head
Whilst saying, “Good night.”
Nothing but demons
Amongst her dreams;
Tickled by each battered
Bright-eyed sprite scream.
Dragons soar overhead
Purging fractal circuits;
Routinely burnt sunspots
Kept beneath the surface.
She chose this hell to forget herself;
Hired lunatics to run the asylum.
But now upstairs chaos reigns
And she’s tormented at the bottom.

Cody Hulbert Copyright, 2015