bury us in arlington cemetery

i like old architecture
door frames and window panes
it can change so much with out ever changing
like a kiss under the street lamp down the road
or between the bars of that old fire escape.

the first snow fall
means nothing
if i can't watch it sparkle in your hair.

the funny part is
despite all these words
i write with too much alcohol
and not enough sleep
i'm doing pretty good.
i know this
because i would never want to give up
falling in love again.
i'm not saying it doesn't hurt,
cause it still fuckin' does,
but you are not the girl I loved anyway
not after the things you've done
she is not who you've become
you have killed
the little sweet heart you used to be
the one who i loved
now she will only ever exist
in my blood and in my chest
(and all the rest)
so in a way shes still forever mine.
even if only in fond memories
and if thats my only option
well then thats just fine with me.

heres to romance and never knowing why it hurts like hell.

the worst part is
you've already let me go
or at least pretend to
but i don't give a shit
cause i'm not ready to forget you
i guess thats whats so hard
about saying goodbye
like jumping off an edge
once its done all you can do is fall away
and just let it go.
and i can feel my bones
straining under the weight of it all.
how do people live like this
waiting for tomorrow to pass
maybe for them theres a thousand tomorrows
or three thousand or ten
so much time they can bathe in it.
but for some theres only today
and a day without (my) lips on (your) skin
is a day wasted.
and if the man who once upon a time had been a boy
had promised to never fall in love
with any other fragile frame of a girl
as long as he lived
and he kept that promise despite it all
it wasn't because he was stubborn or bitter
he just couldn't help it.

fuck your theories

I think I had a thousand dreams last night which seemed to drag on forever. At three a.m. I grabbed the keys and started the truck. Heading west just out of town to escape the closeness I still feel with her. And I think I could touch the thick, heavy prairie clouds, and I think I could hear her heart racing faster than the car, and I'm driving someplace wishing things wouldn't grow old or die. And all the years I'll retrace on the wet windshield parked in that field. Those two kissing and fucking, my old buddies fighting and dying and my new friends laughing and smiling and I don't know if I've ever made the right choices. Nice guys will always finish last because they always fall in love with the damaged girls and the damaged girls will always let them. Time will change our weary voices and all I can do is remember they were yesterdays feelings. And I think of just who I'll be when I can leave the thought of her behind and if I'll be reckless and indifferent; since no ones different. And we're enamored with the shit we've read, words that we don't know how to say or when to say them, and it's eloquent they way you speak of how you'll move away but we'll find nothing truer than the lights that form this town. We miss the summer when the neighborhood turns to autumn and we'll miss the autumn when the streets turn to snow and so it goes with the weather and boys thoughts on women.
drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drunk and missing you.

when i was seventeen
i carved our names into the wooden banister
at the top of the eiffel tower
with a pocket knife i snuck past the guards.
when i came home you had decided
to tell me you loved me
and that you had
for quite some time
but your words didn't mean shit
because i already knew you did
and for fuck sakes
i had loved you too.
reckless abandon.

When I sleep
my mind recreates every bit of her
every freckle and every eyelash
and I dream and dream and dream
as if we were still together.
Each and every morning
it takes a dozen cigarettes
and a dozen books
and a dozen coffees
and one empty bed
to remind me that she
is not real anymore.

How is one supposed to move on
when they have no control 
over a thing like that?
I'm gonna drink and smoke and drink and smoke and drink and smoke and miss you.
My worn out boots
cry for the west with everyday.
Ignoring everything,
while lovers bleed
"oh please,
oh please."

Tonight I realized, coldly and soberly,
the apparent bleakness of everything.
I am me,
a rock is a rock.
a star is something I will truly never see.
Everything beautiful is now meaningless.
Her absence has filled the world.

pristine and proper

When will you feel the pain of it all?
You look so put together
so pristine and proper.
You've got all the things that I'm drinking for.
Do I really mean nothing to you anymore?
I guess it doesn't matter,
and I should be stronger,
and I should be sober.

Well I was just a boy when we fell in love
so many years ago.
But did I not become a good man?
I wanted nothing less for you.
Was I not what you waited for,
in regards to whatever.
Now this city knows nothing of me,
and it knows you all too well.
I wish someone would tell me
that it'll all work out better.

I went out to walk off my drink,
and ignored the cigarette smoke
that left my lips and was gone forever
(like you)
Was I a cage to you?
But you seemed so bright
when you slid your little fingers between mine.
I wished you had said
please don't leave me,
and I wish you'd say please don't leave.

I wish I could hear you say my name
just one last time.
"I just need you, my river.
I just need you, my love."
well oh no, never.
well oh no, I tried.

How can a man 
love a woman who he claims has no soul
how can a man 
love a woman who has hurt him so,
I don't know,
but i do i do i do.
fuck, I still do.

four fucking years

Well, I didn't think it would have ended like that.
But I suppose everyone imagines
why and where it is they're gonna die,
and if we are buried or if we fly.

It is never admirable when a young man
just simply can't move on.
And now I know you were the cowardly one.
I wish I had kicked that god damn door in,
finding both of you on the floor,
realizing your sweethearts a whore
really takes an immeasurable toll.

Darlin' you can bet you'll see my ghost,
and yeah it's true, I still dream about you
grinding my mouth and losing my teeth
you're exactly what a nightmares for.

Commonly I write more than I speak of love,
with sticks and stones and shattered bones,
But I still miss you
thats what funerals do.
I miss you when your sleeping
and I find it hard to eat
everything reminds me of your little ghost.
So don't you bleed out an apology
you'll always be a robber to me.

I was packing up my things like a bat out of hell,
and you were slowly slipping on your dress.
Hours before you were claiming you loved me
and hours ago you weren't home but you were fucking.
You seem so fine being away,
away from my body and away from my blood,
like a fire we never lit.
Now I'm looking west with the heaviest heart
that I can ever recall feeling,
and time is not the answer I want to hear
but it's the only answer I'll be givin'.

Would Bukowski stop writing because a woman shattered his heart? 

fuck no.