Long Distance

by Patrick Scheno
(New York)

I'm no writer
I'm a goddamn poser
Ive got no business being an author
Ripping my shit from Hawthorne and Salinger
I cant create metaphors
nor can I hash out simile's
I just moan and groan on and on about my on tragedies

I haven't seen the world aside from the east coast of the United States
and my ignorance and selfishness are more detrimental than a neck break, it snaps and can no longer nod and shake

Would it be cliche if I said that I missed you?
That I miss having your porcelain hair to run my fingers through?
That i miss squeezing your cheeks and kissing your forehead
wrapping my arms around you while we lay naked in bed
I'm so sick of the fu--ki-g distance
the trains
lanes and buses
Ez Pass has become a better friend to me than any human being could ever dream

our love measured in miles crossed and hours lost
between coming and going and never knowing
what it would be like
if we never left each others sight.

Despite it all I wouldn't trade you for the world
and though metaphors and similes can establish my identity
as a well educated literary it will never fully establish exactly what you do to me

My pall has depleted,
some color in my skin
Ive been out in the sun longer than I've ever been and I've been working out and f--kin running

and I embrace the heat,
thats boiling up the hot concrete at the soles of our feet
can you feel it, i know you can feel it as well as me
it's sparking up the energy
that occurs whenever your fingertips press against me
There is no more individuality
our minds run parallel like the train tracks and highway lanes we ride upon

Natures suddenly become dear to my mind
as we drive up the east coast and the trees change faster than the time
I'm trying to find ways to poetically convey
the gentle sway
of the branches
and how it compares to the ocean color and temperature

or the way the sky looks like trix yogurt cotton candy color swirl
as the sun hides away from our side of the world
and we're getting ready to rest our legs on a motel bed again
it was all with you
the ride back is never the same as the ride there simply because you aren't there

you're almost never there and it hurts more than I care to share amongst letters lyrics and poems.
again I'm on my way home
and there's 2000 other places id rather be
as long as you were with me to stop my teeth from chattering when its 80 degrees because I'm so scared of being lonely

Would it be cliche to say now that I wish you were here,
that in 8 months you've erased the past 4 years
of drug addiction and manic depression

there's replacement for coming down
even when you aren't around
the very sound of ur voice on the cellular phone is enough to make me feel home
and calm without chemicals running through my arms

And when I'm in my room alone and the lights have all turned off
I whisper I miss you and i know the sound carries straight to your heart

and everything is beautiful
and everything is stable

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