I am Zac Lindsay

Learn to recycle.

From all things; from head to toe.

There’s you left in there.

And now, there’s those days,
When I find I can’t bother,
To pick myself up.

Once, I felt passion.
It tingled my broken bones,
And made me feel free.

“She’s far too game for what you’re thinking.”
Momentarily, it resonates,
With all those tiny details:
Her hair in a breeze.
The warmth of her hand.
Her arm around my waist.
Or was it her waste?
Who could tell while this tired?
You’re not tired, are you?
We can rest if you need,
Unless you do.
Just catch up later.
Is that what you were & will be?
My gateway drug?
You’ve taken my time and my sanity.
Not to mention, my sanity.
I simply can’t think straight these days,
So how could I wonder,
Why she would do that to me?
Like I’d dare utter the response,
Or listen if someone did.
I can’t hold smoke and speak, anyways.
Fuck
All
Things.

Some things never change.
I wish one was your hair.
It had distinctive colors,
And oh, how they could share,

Their beauty like a sunset,
That compliments the sea,
And if you ever find our boat,
Then float on back to me.

There’s something that I need to want.
I think it could be you.
I sense it every time we meet,
Yet it always feels new.

But am I really living?
If not, I’m better dead.
I’d rather keep our casket warm,
Than trespass in your head.

Every time I hear your name,
And when I see your face,
Where hesitation looms,
Not ready to erase,
That memory of us,
I trapped in portrait lust.
Don’t hate me for it, please.
I need you to need me.

Know that all I need,
Is contained in frames,
That remember vividly for me,
All the things I never knew I’d see,
But only once.
They now lay dead.
Cannot revive from reveries,
The notes that harmonize clearly between,
Her outstretched arms.
And so I’ve stumbled into tombs,
Where all that glass lies:
Dying and cold.
I’ll eat those words,
Till we’re both old,
Our one escape:
Caskets in graves.
A bittersweet release,
Will give me ease,
So please, keep your second chance.
I’ve already concluded:
Your name will be lost to mine,
In the epitaph where I’d hoped they’d find,
Each other.
So why bother?

Every tiny spec.
Entirely somatic,
But feigning some soul.