mcgregorian chant
TRANSCRIPT
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MCGREGORIAN CHANT
grace tallmadge
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see, I’m not the type to call you up drunk
but I’ve got some lies to tell.
- Catfish and the Bottlemen, “Homesick”
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☲ Contents☲
i. to the mcgregors
vladivar 5
west sands love medley 9
ii. and those like us
impromptu therapy session #26 12
sobriety: another conversation 15
iii. damn few
i don’t have a tinder but even if i did i probably wouldn’t match with you
anyways 21
int. stairwell, 3 a.m. 26
e9 28
iv. and they’re all dead
hey 32
antica 35
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i.
☲☲☲
to the mcgregors
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Vladivar
I.
one shot of vodkaand i’m watching the daisies
i picked by the shore
wilt in my hands.
one shot of vodka
and i’m trying to wash yesterday’s tears off my face
while not waking up my roommate
hands outstretched and eyes open
feeling for it –
i guess this would be a lot easier if i knewwhat i was looking for.
II.
two shots of vodka
and he says, “trust me.”
i say,
“make me holy,”
so we take our hands and we build ourselves churches,
we take our hands and we build ourselves churches and we burn them down again.two shots of vodka and he says,
“tell me a bedtime story.”
paris is burning,
the harbor is burning,
and those churches we built,
those are burning too.
you did this to me,
i say.
we did this to each other.
he says,
“tell me a secret.”
a secret:
in the real story, i am the harbor.
i am burning alive in your bed.
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a secret:
i don’t trust you.
III.
three shots of vodka
and my fingers are twisted in his hairand the words he murmurs into my lap sound like prayers
so long as i can’t hear them.
we are dizzy and full of light
full of light and full of air
and all these tiny precious things.
there are monsters in my closet,
the things i need to say,
so i lock them in my ribcage –
save it for a rainy day, i tell myselfas our feet tangle in the sheets –
you don’t need his blessing.
bottle it up.
three shots of vodka
and my biggest fear is spilling onto your floor
all the memories i’ve had since we met:
you, on the couch.
me, in your collarbone.
us, dancing.unspool my mind and tell me how to forget this,
the smell of your clothes
and the way you open your mouth to laugh
but stay silent.
unspool my mind, touch my neck,
bury my skin in your skin
and leave us to rot in a jar.
something like desire.
the snow, melting.
bottle it up.
IV.
four shots of vodka
and we’re stumbling down the street
with vomit in his mouth and blood on my hands
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and we’re laughing,
god, we’re laughing and
those feeble fingertips of his reach out to touch my hand,
he asks me to make the room stop spinning
so i kiss the tip of his noseand whisper,here.
if you’d just look, i’m here.
i’m here.
four shots of vodka
and we’re stumbling up to his room
with bruises on his thighs and questions on my tongue;
questions that don’t have an answer like
“why didn’t you answer my call
when I was lost outside at 2 a.m.”
“why do you drink so much”
“why didn’t you tell me where you were last night”
why the fuck do you drink so much
so i kiss the top of his forehead
and whisper,i am not the agent
of my own happiness.
four shots of vodka
and he keeps his hand in the back pocket of my jeans
the way we keep ourselves to each other,
the way we haven’t told our friends about us and
the way we keep the moment here,
these graceless remains,
these sepulchral bones,
the milky way glistening at the bottom of your drink.
when all else fails,
we look for a way to run;
so i kiss his jaw and whisper,
we are not as chosen as we thought we were.
five, six, seven shots of vodka
and he won’t remember any of this in the morning
but i kiss him anyway.
(this would be a lot easier if we knew what we were looking for.)
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i kiss him anyway.
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West Sands Love Medley
hey, you wanna go get high on the beach with me?
think about shifting tides, the padding of our feet
against ancient stone,
the puddles holding onto
our reflections
and the streetlights.
yeah. we should just go and get high.
we could let the comets rain down on us
leaving our bodies
broken
and in starry poolsi could press my lipstick to your cheek
like it's pressed to the rolling paper
and we could get our hands dirty
with saltwater
and gentleness.
come on,
let's sing the celestial bodies electric,
let's ask the waves to dance;we don't even have to do it nicely.
let's make a home for ourselves
in the fennel
and the foxglove
and forget everything that the war ever taught us:
that the blood coursing through our veins
looked better
spilled on the floor,
that the curses dropping from our mouthswere anything other
than rotten teeth.
look at me, something frightening.
look at me, something so soft and breakable
it's a wonder i'm still here at all.
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but iam here --
here, where everything is quiet and nothing is sacred,
here, where i am aching like you are aching
and we know nothingwill ever be like this again --
here, let's fall in love with strangers,
with the sky,
with each other.
let's pretend our naked hopes will be enough
to get us through til morning.
here, i wanna get high
and i wanna forgive myself
and i wanna do it all
with you.
here, let's take another drag
for all we have lost;
we don't even have to go that far up the coast, you know,
just someplace dark,
just someplace where we might slice ourselves open on the rocks,
just someplace where our shoulders can be touching
and everything around us is whispering
now;
now;
now;
and we breathe out smoke and stardust.
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ii.
☲☲☲
and those like us
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Impromptu Therapy Session #26
he tells me that when he was younger, he used to punch through doors
when he got angry.
he's smiling as he says it,
leaning back in his rolling chair,
and his eyes are that kind of shining
you only get when you're so high
that the stars start to come in through your window
and settle on your ceiling
and i'm sitting on his bed
and my hands are gripping the sheets
and i'm seeing something
start to take shape that i didn't before,
something strange and sharp
and cutting into me
and for a moment i can feel myself
bleeding right through the mattress
and he looksso happy, the only kind of happy you can look
when you are not happy,
when you are so sad
that everything in your chest
is starting to freeze over
and i want to tell him, you know,
that i used to sit on my roof
and light matches
and watch them burn out
and pretend that i was smoldering too
that i still drink gin in the showerthat sometimes i have to sit on my hands to stop them from shaking
that every time i think about kissing him,
i also think about all the ways that i could shatter
if i ever fall.
i want to tell him
that before i am anything else,
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i am always
a mistake.
and i bet you're tired of this, tired of
hearing me talk about how i'm too fucked upto love or listen
or exist as anything other than
something like the orange juice spilled onto your counter,
the sink overflowing in your bathroom,
the glass bottles smashed on the sidewalk outside your door,
something fragile and hopeless and out of place.
i bet you're tired of the story
where i'm running desperate through the airport,
the story where i'm waiting patient in the garden,
the story where i have to choose between staying alive
and falling in love
and i always end up dead at the end.
i know you're tired of me claiming i have no choice
when i'm the one who's been holding the knife.
believe me, i am too.
he tells me that when he was younger, he used to punch through doors
and he doesn't know this
but right now
he's punching through me;
he doesn't know that i can only accept gentleness if it feels like violence,
that the only time kindness can touch me
is when it's slitting my throat.
he doesn't know this,
but i do.
he tells me he used to punch through doorsand for the first time since i've known him
the marijuana smoke on his clothes
doesn't smell like giddiness,
but something like regret.
something like oblivion.
something like what drowning people feel
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the moment they open their lungs to the water
and give in.
he tells me that he used to punch through doors
and i don't realize how long i've been staring at himuntil he finally looks away.
he tells me that he used to punch through doors
and i have never felt so close.
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Sobriety: Another Conversation
(Lights come up. GIRL and BOY stand with their backs to each other.)
BOY: i had a dream last night. all my friends were there, they were with me, but we
were alone, and we were lying in a field, and we were looking at the stars, and they all
had the names of people we knew, and we were remembering
GIRL: this is how the story always starts
BOY: we were getting high, we were laughing, we were sharing each other’s jackets and
we weren’t feeling anything
GIRL: boy meets girl
BOY: or we were feeling everything, feeling it all, we werecreating the feeling, it was a
long time ago
GIRL: girl meets boy back
BOY: but i can still feel the rain on the grass
GIRL: and they begin to destroy each other from the inside out.
Pause.
BOY: hey
GIRL: it’s late
BOY: we’ve been arguing again
GIRL: you’re alone
BOY: do you remember why we’re mad at each other
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GIRL: why did you come here
BOY: because i’m so angry at you
GIRL: i don’t understand
BOY: it’s not anything personal
GIRL: you can’t hate me
BOY: it’s just that every time i look at you
GIRL: this isn’t how it works
BOY: it’s just that i really can’t stand you
GIRL: you don’t get to do this
BOY: it’s just that i don’t want to ever see you again
GIRL: you don’t get to come here and say
BOY: it’s alright
GIRL: how much you hate me when
BOY: you can’t possibly hate me more than i hate myself
GIRL: i don’t hate you
BOY: you can walk away from this
GIRL: this whole time
BOY: you can be absolved
GIRL: i’ve just been trying
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BOY: you can find someone else
GIRL: this whole time, i’ve been trying to tell you that
BOY: you should go
GIRL: you need to learn to show people
BOY: i mean it
GIRL: what you’re feeling
BOY: please
GIRL: or you might always be alone
BOY: i said, i mean it
GIRL: but i don’t believe you.
BOY: you want emotion?
GIRL: why did you come here
BOY: here are some emotions that i don’t share
GIRL: since when have you ever thought about what i want
BOY: i think we are hurtling towards oblivion
GIRL: i just wanted you to be alright
BOY: i think there are life forms on other planets that will render us pointless
GIRL: i think that’s the entire point
BOY: i wonder if all my friends back home are still in that field, looking at the stars
GIRL: maybe i could give you something for the pain
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BOY: or if they all got up and left
GIRL: some paracetamol
BOY: or fell in love
GIRL: or some aspirin
BOY: or if they’re all forgetting
GIRL: let me check in my bag
BOY: sometimes i try and think about what i am forgetting
GIRL: i almost always carry some, i need it for my head
BOY: forgetting what it’s like to be in control
GIRL: to stop all the crying
BOY: to have somewhere to go once it’s all over
GIRL: i haven’t cried in five months
BOY: to touch someone
GIRL: not since i first let you touch me
BOY: and have them stay with you
GIRL: i’m sorry
BOY: i’m not myself, i don’t think
GIRL: i can’t give you anything, right now
BOY: side note, what are emotions?
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GIRL: that night, i should have stayed with you
BOY: i think you should leave
GIRL: you’re strange
BOY: you’re fucked up
GIRL: i know
BOY: i know.
GIRL: are you alright
BOY: have you ever really loved something, and had it love you back?
GIRL: i loved you.
BOY: i don’t think any of us ever really loved each other
GIRL: please, all i wanted was for you to be alright
BOY: we just loved looking at the stars.
GIRL: you want emotion?
BOY: no. not from you.
GIRL: then why did you come here?
BOY: i had a dream last night.
(Lights go down.)
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iii.
☲☲☲
damn few
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I Don’t Have a Tinder But Even if I Did I Probably Wouldn’t
Match With You Anyways
(swipe left)remember that week i wasn’t sober?
there was a time when you asked if i wanted to grab lunch
and my hands shook for an hour afterwards.
i’m sorry i didn’t speak to you until i was swimming
under two bottles of wine,
i just couldn’t bring myself to look at you
and that was the easiest way for me to go blind.
and you know, i’m sorry i let your fever swallow me;
i’m sorry i left you alone on the couch that nightand i’m sorry i let your friend put his hands up my skirt.
i’m sorry about the ashes that sometimes fill my throat.
mostly, i’m sorry that you were everything i needed.
i’m sorry that i just didn’t need it right then.
(swipe right)
you do this thing
where you start with your lips at my collarboneand leave a trail of smoldering stars
all the way up to my temple.
we flicker in and out of consciousness
like cigarettes in the dark
and our bodies spread
and melt to form a galaxy
that is bigger than the room,
that is pressing against the walls
and leaving us without a breath
and all this space between us
gets lost
in hips, in wrists,
in the bruises on my knees
and the taste of beer on your tongue.
“no” is not enough, never enough;
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not enough to make you stop putting your hands around my neck,
not enough to make me stop wanting you.
those mornings after,
i split my knuckles open on the concrete
while you nurse your hangoverand ask me if i remember where you put your headphones.
it’s a stupid question.
of course i do.
(swipe left)
i text you back way too fast
for someone who’s up at 4:39 a.m.
both of us ask, but neither of us want
to admit where we’ve been –
i know you’ve probably been getting high
on the beach by yourself
and you know that i’ve probably been kneeling on linoleum
holding back someone’s hair as they spill
everything they’ve smoked and drunk and said
that night out from their feeble mouths.
someone once asked me if i was in love with you
and i laughed so hard
i could taste blood,
but you know better than anyone
that i would beat down your door
with my soft, bare fists
if it meant you’d be okay.
god, i just want everyone to be okay.
isn’t that what you’re supposed to want?
isn’t that enough?
(swipe right)
i come downstairs and into your room sometimes
just to watch you eat cereal
and play video games,
just so that you’re not alone.
i pretend not to notice the condom wrappers
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and you pretend not to notice my scars
and we fight a lot about stupid things
and there have been so many times i’ve thought
about throwing a rock
or myselfthrough your window –
but then i also think about the times
i used to sit in my car
in a gas station parking lot
and light matches and blow them out and just cry
and i also think about how
your parents got divorced when you were little
and how it’s probably been a long time
since someone told you that you were important
so i just clink my bottle against yours
instead.
your roommate says that ten in the morning
is too early for beer,
that we’re probably starting to become alcoholics.
we grin, and then collapse into silence.
the bottleneck knocks against my teeth.
your avatar bleeds out on the computer screen.
(swipe right)
one night, you told me that we’d probably be best friends
if you weren’t such a dick all the time.
i rolled my eyes, led you upstairs by the arm.
that’s the thing, i wanted to tell you.
you don’t have to be such a dick all the time.
you don’t have to curl away from me
like you’re burning at the touch of my skin.the daylight is still just daylight
and we are both still here.
(swipe left)
i think meeting you
was the strangest thing
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that’s happened to me this whole semester:
i asked you about home and you told me
that Kurt Cobain shot himself
twenty minutes from where you used to live.
i should have known that we’d be friends
the moment you tried to use suicide as a pickup line,
but i wasn’t expecting it.
if i’m being honest: i wasn’t expecting you.
(swipe right)
you wrapped me in your arms
on a blue october morning
and i could suddenly feel
that we were all as small as insects
and we were trapped in the moment
like it was amber.
i whispered this to you
as we watched our friends cross the floor in front of us
on the way to breakfast, on the way to class,
on the way back home from a one night stand;
everything in motion
but us.
you held me so close to you
i thought i might break apart.
for a second, we were larger
than these fragile bones.
(swipe left)
remember that week i wasn’t sober?
yeah, i should’ve gone to lunch with you, but you,
you should’ve stayed.you should have taken me by the shoulders
and sat me down on your floor
and just stayed there with me,
just for a little while.
you should have stretched out the skin of your arms
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and showed me all your pain,
you should have answered your phone
you should have taken my hand
you should have told me it would be all right
and you should have stayed.you should have stayed.
Kurt Cobain killed himself
three years before we were born.
the first night you kissed me, i swear
i could hear the gunshot
echo.
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INT. Stairwell, 3 a.m.
[GIRL and BOY are standing on the landing of a staircase. Everything is washed in fluorescent
light and there are shadows on both their faces. They are having an argument that the audiencecannot hear; BOY keeps gesturing angrily to something out of frame, or something not there, and
GIRL keeps running her hands through her hair. Her makeup is smeared across her face. She
looks like the aftermath of a summer storm.]
[GIRL’s shirt is almost falling off her; most of her bra is visible, but she does not seem to care.
GIRL feels naked but also powerful but also vulnerable but also furious. Deep and empty like a
lake but also violent like a sandstorm. An exposed nerve. A glistening blade. A caterpillar
crawling out of its own skin.]
[There is a gun in her back pocket and a knife in her shoe.]
[It is not easy being a GIRL.]
[Finally, BOY shakes his head, and starts to descend the staircase, leaving her and her casualtiesbehind. He is ending just as she is beginning. He is swallowing the key and she is choking it back
up into an open fist. Silently, determinedly, GIRL follows him. Her fingers are curled and
clenched.]
[This is how it is. BOY is always walking away and GIRL is always following. It’s not always
with each other, and it’s not always painful, but it always ends like this.]
GIRL:[screaming for his attention but nearly silent]Hey.
[BOY stops on next landing, turns to face her. GIRL catches up with him, shedding her shirt like
skin along the way. They stand, looking directly into the other’s eyes. A challenge. A bated
breath. A moment of something like fear.]
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BOY: I think I hate you.
[Beat]
GIRL: Okay.
[GIRL pulls the gun from the back pocket of her jeans and holds it out to BOY, grip-first. BOY
looks down at it like he doesn’t understand, so GIRL shoves it into his cold, white hands. BOY
holds it and they both remember the way he once heldher. He holds it and he sees himself
holding it and he sees just how tenderly death fits in his palm. He holds it and he becomes it. Heholds it and he does not want to let go.]
[GIRL takes BOY’s hands in hers like she would a lover’s and then pulls them toward her, pulls
him close so that the barrel presses against her bare sternum. GIRL and BOY do not break eye
contact. GIRL curls BOY’s finger against the trigger.]
[They stand there, BOY and GIRL, doubt and devotion, lust and loathing and a long, last breath.
He can feel her heart beat against the metal of the weapon. She can feel the weight of everything
they have ever done and will ever do to each other resting on her fragile shoulders, and she closes
her eyes.]
[BOY does not put a bullet in her chest. He puts his tongue in her mouth instead.]
[GIRL wraps herself around his frame and tries to forget everything else.]
[She can’t help but wish that he had pulled the trigger.]
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E9
i don’t even wait for an answer after knocking anymore. in all honesty, i half-expect him
to be asleep – instead he’s awake and alone and barefoot and cross-legged on his bedand knocking back a beer. it makes me smile, even though he rarely ever smiles back.
“oh. it’s you.”
the door swings shut behind me. “hey.”
“hey, you.” he cracks the seal on another bottle with his teeth. “want a beer?”
once, i walked into the ocean with my clothes on and then slept on his floor next to a
half-empty bottle of vodka. when i think about why i did it, all i can recall is that i wastired. tired of being held and emptied and hollowed. tired of people scraping out my
insides until there’s nothing left. tired of wanting to drown. tired of being too good of a
swimmer to bring myself to do it. i woke up the next morning with a blanket and a
headache and the only thing he asked me was if i wanted any orange juice.
i’m remembering all this as i settle down on his bed and watch him plod over to his
windowsill, grab another bottle from the twelve-pack he’s perched there. i’m trying to
think of a morbid joke to tell and break the silence when suddenly he slams it againsthis desk and it’s like i can feel the impact in my chest, crunching against my sternum,
spikes of pain thundering down every limb. the cap pops off, and immediately foam
starts spilling all over his shirt and his hands, and he starts licking his fingers and i can
see tongue meeting skin and i have to turn away.
sometimes, we do this thing where we go together and find a warm, dark room and just
lie in it, just for an hour or two. we talk aboutstar wars and listen to songs about
loneliness. we get tangled in each other’s bones and the smell of each other’s hair. hisfingers find my neck, stay there until i’m pushing him away, until i start to shake, until i
can’t breathe. then his lips. an apology, a plea for something more than just wanting,
more than just skin. open palms. arched spine. before morning, one of us always leaves.
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he hands me the beer and i still can’t find something clever to say so instead i just say,
“thanks.”
“yeah.”
i put my mouth to the glass and i can feel him sit down so that our backs are to eachother but we’re also leaning against each other’s bodies and i can’t shake the sense that i
could probably find my way around this room with my eyes closed and my wrists tied if
i had to. something about muscle memory. the silence is making my head spin but all i
can manage to think about is how the beer is kind of warm but his body is so cold and
how there will never be a way to explain to him how much this is Fucking Me Up, even
though i’ll probably try anyways.
the bed we’re sitting on right now is the same bed we shared that night our friend
wouldn’t stop throwing up and one of us had to keep going to the washroom across the
hall to check on him. he was wearing the same white t shirt, and i was wearing the same
green bra, and we were so scared we didn’t speak for an hour, but i eventually fell
asleep with his fingers laced with mine and the inkling that even if this was the fallout,
even if we never saw each other again, everything would be all right.
behind me, i hear him take another swig of beer and so i let myself go, let gravity take
hold for one frightened moment
and then i’m resting on his shoulder
and it’s like a moon falling into orbit.
my head fits into the hollow of your collarbone like your hips fit my ribs, like this moment fits
into our story.
the story where we’re not afraid to stay, the story where i keep coming down to your room becauseit’s the closest thing to a home i’ve found in this sea-ruined cobblestone city. the story where we’re
just drunk enough to say all the things we mean, but sober enough to remember it come daylight.
the story where i fight you off. the story where i kiss you back.
the story where we’re not unhappy
and we’re not alone
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for our entire lives.
i think you should be the one to tell it.
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iv.
☲☲☲
and they’re all dead
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Hey
hey, i whisper.
hey, you breathe.
there is a silence the size of an ocean, tipped back and pouring
down my throat,
hair on the back of my arms rising, clench the bones of my jaws
you see, my parents found my collection
of ash and bottles
and now i’m hiding in a starbucks and my hands are shaking
and i’m not crying, i’m not gonna cry in public
but i miss you and i miss our friends
and i miss the selfish things,
the awkward kisses and the blurry-eyed dreams and the carnival lights
spinning around
and around
and around --
i stop speaking because the tears are waiting in my mouth
and you are quiet, so quieti can hear the blood rushing in both our ears,
flooding my brain,
so deep in my veins you could drown in it --
hey, you murmur.
hey, i say back.
the words lie restless in our lungs
like those fish without eyes
swimming at the bottom of some black lakeso i tell him, there are bruises on my knuckles
they look like they were painted there
but i don’t remember throwing a punch
and he tries to be funny, maybe it’s like fight club, maybe there’s a side of you
even you don’t know about;
i don’t reply, or maybe it’s you. maybe it’s you
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who doesn’t know
the first fucking thing about me.
this is the worst part: the waiting, the space between our secrets,
my mouth, your fingers, our past and the thingswhich are happening now --
the things between us that have always been happening
and i don’t say, there are also bruises on my heart
from it throwing itself against my ribcage, screaming
obscenities likei need you ineedyou ineedyouineedyouNOW
this is the worst part: forgetting you ever loved me.
-- hey, what’s your greatest fear? (clutching the phone to my cheek,
bones aching like the end of the world, every facet of me
beating,whywhywhy)
i don’t say, telling you the wrong thing.
-- hey, you still up? (the bottom
of a swimming pool)
(a cup full of bourbon)
(train tracks and rooftops and every moment feeling
like my head against the pavement)
i don’t say, still, always.
-- hey, truth or dare?
(everything i know about you is a lie,
swallowing words like broken glass)
i don’t say, truth:
i’m still waiting for my bravery to grow back in where you pulled it out of me.
(bleeding bleeding bleeding for fuck’s sake let mebleed)
i don’t say, dare.
i dare you to stand outside my door
in the dew and the grass and the dark and beg.
i dare you to drop your fist, look me in the face and confess. i dare you
to pick yourself up off the cowardly floorand understand not the weight of forgiveness,
but the bright blessed absence of it.
i dare you to stare into the abyss until you fall into it,
until you fall in love with it,
until something stares back.
i dare you to bend. i dare you to break. i dare you to begin
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begin
hey, i breathe.
hey, you whisper.hey, this is our real, our everything,
our blue veins splintering under the light.
hey: this kind of love makes me human. it does not make me weak.
hey, okay, i guess i’ll keep saying it
until you believe it. i’ll keep shouting it at the stars
til someone finally understands,
someone without your name or mine or anyone’s we know --
hey. i think we should start this conversation over.
another ocean.
there are things he doesn’t say,
can’t know,
but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. i know that now.
hey, i’m leaving for scotland in a few months
and i don’t know if i’ll ever be back
but i know that no one is going to stop me,
not even you.
i don’t feel those things anymore --
all those things i never said, well,
i take them back,
every tender, bitter syllable.
i miss you now but i won’t miss this.
of all the words i ever wanted to say to you, here,
these are the ones i’m choosing.
there. okay.
hey.
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8/17/2019 McGregorian Chant
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Antica
I.
one shot of sambucaand i’m watching the pictures i took in the city
fade in his eyes.
one shot of sambuca
and i’m trying to shake the memory of longing out of my mouth
out of my hair
out from under
my ragged fingernails –
this would be a lot easier if i knew
what i wanted.
II.
two shots of sambuca
and he says, “it’s been six months since i’ve kissed anyone sober.
is that fucked up?” he asks,
“is that just the way we live now?”
i say nothing.
i take his hand instead.
the way we live now:
helpless
and hopeless
and heartless.
the way we live now,
i say,
is doing whatever it takes
to not die.
he says,
“you’re so sad.
you’re so sad and so beautiful.you are the only person who knows me.
you are the only thing
that can make me feel alive.”
the way we live now:
it’s been six months since i’ve even beensober.
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the way i live now:
it’s been six months
and i don’t feel a thing.
III.three shots of sambuca
and his fingers are twisted in my shirt
and his mouth is pressed against my shoulder
and we are taking everything that ever mattered to us
and we are sending it out to sea.
our pockets are full of stones,
full of stones
and full of dread
and all these heavy things,
we are destined to drown –
in our misery,
in these bottles,
in each other.
there’s something crawling under my skin,
the words i’m too drunk to say,
so i just take a long breath
and unclasp my bra instead.
hold it in.
three shots of sambuca
and the only thing i want
is to keep this right here,
these moments where we were lonely
and we were together
and it was never a mistake:
you, in the middle of the street.
me, asleep on your floor.
us, and then the stars.
lean into meand show me what you really know about truth,
your weight on my hips
and the way you wrap your fingers around my throat
but it never leaves a bruise;
lean into me,
fill my lungs with water
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and give me a choice
between love
and all the mercy that has to come after.
the moon, waiting.
hold it in.
IV.
four shots of sambuca
and we’re stumbling down the hall
with scratches on his chest and mascara on my face
and i’m trying,
god, i’m trying and
he’s pulling me towards him by the wrists
and he asks me to make him feel something, anything,
so i kiss his neck and whisper, please.
please, you’re okay. it’ll be okay.
please be okay.
four shots of sambuca
and we’re stumbling down the stairs
with clouds in his head and fears in my stomach,
fears that don’t have any reason like
“i’m afraid of the things you won’t tell me”
“i’m afraid we’ll all end up as strangers”
“i’m afraid we will be unhappy for our entire lives”
i am so afraid of ending up a stranger
so i kiss his fingertips
and whisper,i am incapable of loving without becoming a weapon
without becoming a tragedy
without becoming someone else entirely.
four shots of sambuca
and he looks at me
the way i look at something that’s about to die,
the way we are letting it all unravel before it was ever even completethe way we’re looking up at the sky
as it looks down on us:
these young ruins,
these bloody hearts,
these sad, strange kids
searching for meaning in each other’s mouths
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and always coming up empty.
i just kiss his cheek and whisper,
you are not as lost as you think you are.
five, six, seven shots of sambucaand neither of us is going to remember this in the morning
but i kiss him anyway.
(this would be a lot easier if we knew what we wanted.)
i kiss him anyway.