potency

ghost town

i drove to find what was on the other end of this.
lately, the days have felt never ending
and i'm beginning to believe life only matters
because we know our days have limits
and when i'm on my bed, staring at the ceiling,
hoping for time to slip by and put me out,
i know i've lost it.

i drove and happened upon my ghost town.
i swore i've been inside every building,
known the house of every childhood friend
like my own, loved every inch
because there was never too much at home.
i remembered the place i bought
my first cigarette pack
on my eighteenth birthday
and where i adventured through the graveyard
and tried to entice ghosts.
when my friends and i
danced across the highway
with laughter that echoed through
the street lamps and stars above.
and i began to cry, because
i've been everywhere and i've known everyone
and nothing has changed-
since the day i was born here
up until the day i left.
i drove passed the airport,
remembered that i only started to miss home
when my dad was hugging me,
begging me not to let go
and fly to a place where no one knew my name.

i remembered when i drove through that red light
because my heart was so broken
i'd rather be smashed to bits
than live another second
and the next year i came to that same street
and sat in awe of the snow because it was the purest, whitest, loveliest i'd ever seen.
i remembered hospital room he stayed in.
how he said the window gave no light.
i remembered that same drive
to school every morning
and the last time i ever drove it
how a boy wiped my tears away.
i remembered thinking, "it's over,
but what's the loss?"

not a car passed as i let my head fall out
the window, trying to get more air in my lungs;
as i stuck a middle finger out to all
the grime my ghost town
had accumulated on my behalf.
i wanted life to come crashing through me,
thrash my skull until i was black and blue.
i still keep the letter from my city friend-
the one that helped me escape this boneyard-
where she told me she'd never met someone
who yearned to be alive as much as i did.
i'm hoping everyday that when i touch the earth,
i don't have to feel old,
used up places and emotions.
i'm hoping that the grass will grow
under my hands, for though
my fingertips have not changed,
i have.