Graffiti.

I see the changes taking place
Slanting off the ground, attempting to take hold of something tangible
Grasping telephone wires in desperate attempt to reach something with a pulse
Watching the wet paint splatter
and crack
and run down walls
To finally dry in a shape so warped, so twisted, its own mother couldn’t recognize it

And this is transformation
Something you can’t track or anticipate
Can’t take notes on
Can’t meditate on

Welcome home, monster
You’re looking different.

Disconnect.

My friend Andrew moved away a week ago today.

So far I’ve gotten one text from him.
And today he called me.

Apparently there’s no reception at the place he’s staying.

We talked for about three minutes.

“Hey Andrew. What’s up?”
“Not much. Going to the mall with Ashley.”
“How’s the house?”
“It’s good. How’s your girlfriend?”
“Fine? How’re you and Peter?”
“Alright. How have things been?”
“Pretty good.”
“Alright. I’ll give you a call later.”
“Okay. Peace.”
“Peace.”

This is the guy who -to this day- calls himself my best friend.
That doesn’t really sound like it to me.
Didn’t really feel like it.
Hasn’t really felt like it in a while.

I didn’t really say anything to anyone when he left.
But I felt like I’d miss him.
I mean. I’ve been with him 80% of the time for the past four years.
He’s been a major part of my life.

And for the longest time he felt like a brother to me.
My mom even calls him her son still.

And every holiday my family goes over to his family’s house.
We don’t have family out here.
And none of our family really feels the need to see each other often.

I haven’t seen any part of my family aside from my parents since I was in middle school.
The time gap will probably just keep growing.

Anyway, I’m digressing.

What I’m trying to get at is–
I just. Don’t. Really feel anything.
We’ve been drifting for months, and this is just solidifying things.

He hasn’t been very much of a friend this past year.
I haven’t felt close to him at all.

And it’s just kind of a shame how things turned out.
But people change, and it’s for the best most of the time.
And I think he was bound to go another direction from me anyway.

I really used to love him.

It’s just another reminder of how fleeting and temporary people are sometimes.
Someone who mattered the world to me a few years ago is almost completely off my radar.

And I don’t really care.

I told you I was going to post this.

I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but my girlfriend also happens to be a writer.

She offered to go over what I had written the other day.
I kept saying how I couldn’t figure out how to finish it. So~
Seemed like a good idea.

And it totally was. It actually made sense after she had touched it up.

I’ll just say that my kind of poetry looks like pretty vomit.
And she can tell you why I’m vomiting, when it happened, and who cleaned it up.

Novelists know how to do that.

ANYWAY.
I was so pleased with what she had done so far, I kept bothering her to finish it.
(And because I’m a lazy face who needs to be whipped/clawed into finishing most things.)
But she refused and wanted me to finish my own work. xD How rude, right?

The end result of this conversation can be seen in the following.
She told me how she’d end it if I made her touch it again.
I told her to do it anyway.

xD And so it sits.
And I think it’s hilarious.

We collaborate well together.
____________________________________
I followed myself home that night.
I wanted to kill someone.
So I left.

I glanced at my hands as I walked.
You could still see where that bullshit glass had cut me.

I fucking hated that woman.

She’s waiting for me when I arrive,
her eyes all fogged like she wants me to know she’s stoned.
She likes making love this way–

Filthy like our city.

I found her sitting on my doorstep one morning.
She said I’d given her a toss in an alley around Fifth last month, and she was looking for a place.

I called her a liar and pushed her out of the way.

She was still there when I came back out.
Wanted to fuck for rent.
I told her I’d only take drugs.
She lifted up her sleeve. Gave it a shake. A couple grams fell out.

That’s how our relationship started.

So she stayed. And I came home to her haunting my window,
pale and gaunt.

She looked at me expressionless most of the time,
and then she pooped.