Just… why?
Are you an addict too?
Is it to cover something that hurts more?
Maybe… we both turn bodies into bandaids.
My eyes land on‘Andrew Joseph Harding’in the top right corner.
His address.
His birthday: June 29, 1997
Now I know. He’s a Cancer.
The stars were blackout drunk when they poured him.
My fingertips brush over it,
his voice invading me?—
‘…love’s about how good you make someone feel… what they get outta you. What you got to offer. If you fill what they’re missin’… once you stop? Poof. They’re gone.’
He glances down at the tattoo,
where my finger’s brushing.
The lyric: I do not long to be loved but to be known.
‘Bein’ known?It’s seein’ you. Not what you do or what you give, but who you are when you ain’t givin’ shit…’
He drags a thumb across my hand.
‘Just seein’ you, and that be enough…’
I set the tests under the ashtray,
where a cig’s burning, smoke rising up.
The pool chair sighs under me when I lean back, guitar in my lap.
Above, the sky’s cracked open,
night and stars spilling out.
I drag the pick, strumming once, twice,
then hit the wood with the heel of my palm to give the story a heartbeat…
“Met this boy one night?— //
we crashed at Type
Said my name—seven times slow?— //
touched me twice
Without a fight // kissed right /
