What I Want

 
I walk within fire and ice...

So I can have what I need,
for a couple weeks, living a lie by night.
I’m memorizing all my poems,
So I can have them ready.
In case I lose myself...
Or decide I want two free hands.
I’ve spent some of the best nights of my life. Getting lost, but in the end...
I always return to the fight without thought.
This isn’t planned out youthful poetry,
This is a need...
I could scream about...
Like something’s possessing me.
Get it out...

My life is the backstory of a fucker...
I don’t even know, fuck you dude.
I want you underwater...
Then I want a new name...
An alley where no one knows it.
I want a filthy corner of this city...
The mayor doesn't know about.
A hole filled with rain and leaves.
Amongst outdated movie posters.
Where secret chains of pain lay.
Where stacks of paper...
With my name means nothing.
A place no one sees, but the blind.

I want you there...
I want your love in my eyes...
I want your breath in my ear...

Encapsulating me with shocking secrets.
Something to keep me alive, in this hole.
Instead of hateful and sad like my soul.

Let what comes now...
Stand as a fuck you...
To everything that came before.
If we can’t change the past...
At least it doesn't last.
Let golden halls hide me...
From this nausea and disgust.
I wanna be anonymous, dead to the living.
So I can be someone new...
Born again at thirty two.

Sure of what I want, guessing how to get it.
I want a city I’ve never been to...
Making its case through unseen districts.
An underground tunnel, that feels like sleep or believable denial with second sight.
I want to give myself to people...
Who’ve given themselves...
To drastic culture and change.

I want to know them...
I wanna see them...
I wanna find one like me...
I want explosions behind me....
I want nothing to come back to...
I want to pick favorite stars every night...
I know what I want...
I want what the fuck I need...

I want a bed that isn’t mine...
Will it be yours?
On the floor.
Cement or dirt...
What matters is that it comes soon.
I want a map of America covered in crimson dots, connecting myself to those left behind.
I want strangers to feel jealous.
I want what the enemies of my friends have.
I want to recognize people I used to know...but never tell them and be changed enough that they can’t recognize me back.

I want some gravel to lay my head upon
I want a cave
I want to be covered up in arms and catacombs

I want a bed that isn’t mine...

All my best poems feel like lies...
Because they’re what I’d be without compromise and it makes me sick to see the difference between what I am now.
I don’t want food or shelter to count on...
I don’t want love or respect I haven’t earned,

Now here’s your honesty.
There’s not a fucking sentence here...
I wouldn’t cut off fingers to prove.
I’m trying to write something that turns these wants into something I have for real.
But I’m scared this will never come.
I’m scared...
Of violent breakaway.
I’m scared...
That I’m too scared.
I’m scared...
That things won't move past words.
But give me a bed that isn’t mine...
And I'll be more than fine, but less alive.