Sum Kinda Album Review

And if you see him, tell him I listened
To the new album,

And I said there's something missing;
I would probably enjoy his music
So much more
If I didn't know him so intimately...
Every track just feels like porcelain breaking,
Like piano keys and the hands of ghosts,
Like midnight dirt under my fingernails...

And only because he asked,
Tell him that yes, I am packing my bags
And drawing up a first rough draft
Of my social suicide note;
Tell him I was possessed by...
Black matte 
Demons in the spring
Tell him that I was as quiet, for once,
As sad and as still and serene
As some flimsy watercolor thing
Some painting hanging in a mauve frame
On the walls of a hospital waiting room...

Tell him that he was too obsessed with
Out me
Tell him that he never knew a thing about me
He lusted too blindly
After this bag of bones covered in black lace spiderwebs...
Tell the sleepy scruff on his chin that
He knows where to find me,
Where I'll be until the lease and the luck and the food run out;
He knows that escapism has always been my forte. 

My mailbox is full of, typewritten
Apologies and explanations and tell him that I don't love him
And I don't hate him
Tell him that I think about him occasionally -
Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for
Anyone else in this godforsaken city
Of lights and nights that never should have happened but did anyway.
It was terrible and hurtful to ourselves and to everyone else,
But it did wonders for our poetry.

Ask him to draw a picture of my body;
His shaky hands were my favorite hobby
We spent years and years and years
Kissing each others nothingness,
Our skin and white as envelopes.