Monthly Archives: June 2011

Benni:

i was on the run. god ever really knows what im running from, or what it is im hurtling myself toward. i think this time, it was ******. one of the few things that compels me so, that pushes me forward and burns in my blood, and hinges me on disaster…

and i opened a sliding door, to slip unnoticed through a building… it took me stepping into the room to realize i was in your house. slid open a door that doesnt exist without using a key i never gave back… and i slipped through the room like a ghost, and floated downstairs to the front door… deep breath, opened to step onto the walkway…

and there you stood. stunned, i think, to see me there, dapper in a suit and tie with a corsage in your hand like you were on your way to a school dance. and i knew you were on your way to see her, and it crossed my mind that i would probably find myself in your conversation, that crazy girl in your house, on your step…

id been hoping not to see you, and especially not here.

slip by without a word, and move forward, slipping through trees and yards, crunching over snow…

and then there are two of you, both beckoning me to follow, but splitting off in different directions… and i dont know who to follow, so i follow no one…

and throughout the dream, there is one person suspiciously absent… no surprise here, though. if i told you maybe youd be pissed.

or, definitely youd be pissed. that sounds more like you.

and i wake up, brooding, thinking of all three of you and wondering why you haunted my sleep… restless sleep…

and i cannot shake it, so i do the one thing i know how… and the last thing i remember is two thirty, and the next thing i know is waking up two days later, a letter from the officer who took me in in my pocket, my keys missing, my car tossed…

and im in a shitload of trouble now.

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the amount of suffering you endure for a man doesn’t equate to how much he loves you

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being an addict is being a magician. if you can’t form illusions, delusions, imaginary conclusions to yourself and everyone around you, you really have no business being addicted to anything.

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i’ll stand in the fiction aisle agonizing over potential purchases. union square. my head, momentarily quiet, a concept as foreign to me as love. i roam, my hands in the pockets of a dilapidated sweatshirt i abducted from that bar bathroom he pushed me into that night. you have a girlfriend. i hope this feeling plants itself deep inside the roots of me. but 20 minutes later i’m on 2nd Avenue persuaded by some off kilter chemistry that changes its shape into some form of mania.
unravel.
i think i sit on a downtown R train. I must because the next thing i know i’m on 94th and 4th in a church and then the next thing i know i’m walking on the Verazzano with no pedestrian lane. police officers with familiar accents ask me what the fuck is wrong with me. there is banter about Bellevue and 5150s. then i’m in a Duane Reade at dawn wandering aisles filling a cart only to dump all the shit out at the door. at 93 and 4th i’ll stop in a moment of well deserved lucidity. i know as sick as i am, this is still heaven to me.

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the only thing i can accurately compare a man to is a train that never runs express.

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