tin box cracked open.

First I'll have to introduce you to my friend,

I'm sure you've met him.

The Veteran of let downs and broken promises

the whisperer you can't place in dreams

not lilac dazed hallucinations

but nightmares

haunting like a ghost you never agreed upon

My father and me,

we lived like outlaws

breathing only in the night-time

we panned for gold

in a dusty river

he showed me the mountains

but we only talked under street lamps

and in the safety of our shadows

and a cloud of smoke

we stole car stereos from our neighbors

And from the friction of poor choices

red fist against the stubble of his chin

we started forest fires

pine trees crackling mimicked the sound of us

proud thieves laughing.

I can picture you

a locked tin box cracked open

spilling secrets like a

flask filled with gin

it isn't so hard

to be drunk all the time

your lips dripping with

disaster.

In the winter I would

open you up slow

like a time capsule

and we painted the skies with

charcoal

tilted our heads back

and swallowed ash

Every night I used to

see the city lights,

they would cry to me

like sad women being pulled down from clouds

I meant to leave this town

and all of it's ghosts

translucent skin

hollow skeletons

but I've realized they're chained to me

and every night I used to see

those city lights

frowning at me

telling me I was waiting

for a morning that nobody else wanted.

A morning with tidal waves and shadows

and a moon shining and the

snow falling soft on my lips

so that the cold doesn't

feel

like so much of a burden.

Here are the things I know about you:

You don't steal things but you stole bones.

You bury seeds and they never grow.

And I know, that if you could

you would

burn

this

damn

city

down.