"i am augusten, you are pighead. yet different, very different that no matter what, he loved him unconditionally. and the sonnet says what the sonnet wants, but love never changes, only people do. and sometimes i feel like so much has changed for you and even less has changed for me and i cant fathom what else we could possibly paint. do you remember the dream? i remember the dream. i painted your body pastels of red and blue and gray. and i kissed you till the morning till there was a a forest of fire and colors and trees. home, the place we sleep; where you're the last thought in my head and the first thought to awake in me."
you are everywhere, in the headlights and the trees that slowly sing. i was looking for some closure through the warmth you used to bring. and i'm doing just fine yeah, i'm doing just okay. but there is so much sadness inside these brick houses that i wish i'd made it clay. we still have our mash potato castle, way up there in the sky; and i often ask myself how is your halo, just between you and i? i'm doing just fine, yeah, i'm doing a-okay. i fix my own dinner and i'm sure to stay out of your way.
"how do you forget to remember and remember to forget? you're f_cking everywhere, everywhere i turn to is a new memory in a new light. and i just want to burn this town and it's name, every person who has your eyes. and i'm terrified of f_cking strawberries because i know they are just what you liked. i cant finish a meal without turning on the t.v, i cant sleep without the light. i cant walk down a road without tripping because i think of things like "are you sleeping well at night?"
i'm getting by, yeah, i'm doing just fine. but sometimes i stop to think how clocks can move so easily throughout time. not a second thought to hands moving, whisking right through the wind. and i wonder if you're eating all your meals like you're supposed to, feel my lips through the binge? i speak of light memories, words of going away; i cannot forget the adverbs and i cannot help but flinch at the sound of your name. you still are, to me, quite beautiful when you sleep. and i have littered the floor with sketches of your smile, grape smeared pennies covering the sink. and i can feel my clothes walking away from me, tired of laying on the ground. and one day my shirt said to me, "dont put me in any place where you should be found." so i guess i have nothing and everything else has changed. and i'm more than homesick, remembering the softest way you said my name.
the house breathes your memory at night when i am alone, and a clock moves without thinking which is more to me like home. i've been sleeping in most mornings, i dont like to stay awake. and i've been working on a few projects which are more give then take. i'm not sorry, i'm not fine, and i'm not forgetting to forget. it's that i've tucked you in corners of my head and chest that ache and shriek and fret. if i could move without a second thought, i'd crawl up through these dirt and worms. i am cooking meals and tucking myself in, but sleepless eyes are growing worse.
"there is a red car parked down the road from me, and it hurts to breathe the color in. do you miss me even a little, pighead, do you think of what we missed? i cant get used to this in any way, i just close my eyes and sigh. the wood groans of your future and tells me you arent sleeping well at night. love is not subject to change nor is it subject to time; though, there is nothing else i wanted, for blue blue skies. you built me everything i wanted, gave me home inside your eyes. and no matter how many times you say it, i know you are not fine."