i get cold, so i walk outside, you won’t leave, you follow behind, the ghost of your death it lingers in me, i stay away—and still you find me. you live in blood, you talk through veins, sometimes at night, my fingers can’t be tamed, they think about you, they start to cave, they can’ t sit still while you keep coming round me. They click along, they swerve their course, they make me crazy, they make me hoarse, i want to sleep, they keep me standing, i want to leave, but there’s no abandoning– you’re in my blood spreading through my heart— pumping me numb. you were an artist, and you were brilliant, your ivy league scholarships, your world could have been perfect. but fame didn’t suit you, you compromised, a renegade rebel, you gave me your eyes. and i don’t blame, no sir i don’t—i just wanted to come with. it’s all i’ve ever wanted —to be by your side, because you are my heart my head my spine-you are the beat thumping through every line, and that’s why i write–it’s the only time we can be side by side. Dear John Gilbert, I know you’re great, and though you failed me, you left a trace. the train is coming, we call her Dagny—it’s time you head back…. admit defeat and let me be lonely. i want to be lonely. Crayola wax—what’s left of your handsome devastating (i know deep down somewhere you adored me couldn’t live without me- i was the face that kept your body pumping, acknowledging life and flowing, even though you didn’t live long enough to hold me, explode your rage beauty and grace towards me. forgot to mention you love me, left without realizing how much your absence would haunt me….) face and story.