We followed spectral images down endless corridors,
swallowed pale excuses to wind our ways through the haunted night,
surrounded by the bare walls closing in around us,
avoiding those conversations in which we would discuss so many superfluous emotions,
and we would never admit that this was all just a game we played
to keep ourselves occupied
while waiting for the sky to open up and unleash its fury on the earth.
You were there, flitting about on the edges of my vision like a dream,
like a memory that should have been so clear,
but instead remained ambiguous in the haze of other days
spent grasping for an exit.
And I delayed for one moment the satisfaction laying dormant
inside closed rooms tiled with aged photographs
of ancient history,
like the one where I stood proudly dressed in gothic attire,
conspiring to bring about some change to the world
through recitations of ancient rituals,
lighting candles with habitual calm to summon gods that were never named,
like your sweet breath on that night I was tamed and trained
to stand in the middle of your room and watch you swoon
among the flickering flames,
dancing shadows painting our faces.
Those ghosts still wander down the lonely halls,
calling names that seemed to represent creatures we once called friends,
but they have all been lost in the fog of passing time.
Will an invocation solicit a response?
Can those apparitions solidify into
We held hands for five minutes.
Your initials remain etched in ink on my skin.
I remember your milk white skin and flaming red hair.
You will always be somber and draped in black.
I told you I had chosen evil over you.
Sweet song sung for a moment then gone.
The first time I contemplated suicide, but I was so young then.
My lack of religion frightened and excited you.
I only remember how frail and small you were.
All of these ghosts, and so many more,
lurking in the dark corners of the labyrinth,
waiting to be stumbled upon and remembered,
and I ask if there was a point to any of that?
Was there an answer I sought with all of you,
or was it an exercise in futile lust?
How many will disappear,
How many ever really cared?
We explored the ditches in our neighborhood,
videotaping the expeditions.
You were a runaway and disappeared before I got a chance to say goodbye—I wish I hadn't fallen asleep that night.
We kissed in a creek under a bridge in North Carolina.
You watched little red Egyptian men dancing on a table and laughed.
You helped me sneak out of my house to dance on acid until the sun came up.
You hid under a pile of laundry until your wife got home, and I couldn't stop laughing.
You wrote me a note saying your face hurt because you couldn't stop smiling—I still have it stored in a chest somewhere.
We were broke down and stranded in Canton, Texas, waiting to be saved.
We rolled on giant speakers, bass frequencies coursing through our bodies.
We watched the sun come up at City Park in New Orleans, listening to little fluffy clouds.
You watched dragons and fish skeletons float across the sky.
We did things we should be ashamed of, but we were never guilty.
We were harassed by police, and they called me your “little fagot friend”.
We climbed the magnolia tree in front of my house.
You held me in your muscular arms and made me feel like a dizzy girl.
We drove around town for hours at night, stereo on full blast.
We thought we were so novel, but we were nothing new.
We drank coffee and smoked cigarettes for hours in Joe's Dinner, Waffle House, Denny's, Murrel's, and countless other greasy dives.
We learned the meaning of the word ennui.
We met at amusement parks to hang out under the freeway, smoking pot and hanging out.
We were so young and wanted to believe we were old souls.
You listened quietly on your end of the phone as I read you poetry, some about you, some I only let you think was about you.
I lied to you, but you always forgave me, until I couldn't lie anymore.
We grew cynical far too young, but we still wanted to hold on to hope.
We were never deluded enough to believe in the decency of the human race, we knew that was only a myth.
We never believed in God or salvation, but maybe we should have.
We never thought we'd still be alive after all these years, and I remember little Joseph, he died so young.
We knew none of this would ever mean anything, and we were right.
And now all I can think to ask is where are we?
Who has survived?
Who is the same?
Who has completely changed?
Who has felt the most joy?
Who has lost the most?
Who has lost their mind?
Who never had one to begin with?
Who will mourn us when we pass?
Who will remember all those moments we shared?
Who will remember me?
Who will remember us?
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