did someone burst your bubble, boy?
or did you just have too much to drink?
get your lies drunk and high as you?
coat them in effervescence
until your lungs fly you away?
you were always ready, boy,
ready to pop.
and you know
you’ll never get it back,
get them back,
get back to yourself –
do you see me now boy,
without the glare?
i used to speak of you in hues;
i told the world you were only
green, no,
blue, no,
grey, no –
the truth is that you never weren’t
drained of color, boy,
but at least the booze
could paint your cheeks
the color of a rose.
and you can’t be empty
when you stuff your carcass
with liquid and bubbles
or force your lungs
to chose smoke over oxygen
so as the walls collapse in toward their maker
do you realize
that no one is killing you,
that no one wants to do the work of remembering;
not then,
not now,
not you, boy –
but forgetting is
easy,
accidental,
inevitable –
we will forget
your words,
your bubble,
you, boy –
isn’t he lovely?
isn’t it beautiful to not remember?
