As Good as it Gets

As Good as it Gets

In the bed
laying
clothes on the floor
the night around us
and light from buildings
darting through half shut blinds
etching
and highlighting our features as we laid there.

I was tired of everything we did.
Tired of the monotony of loving you.

I love you.
You know that.
But what I mean now...
then...
loving you was so hard
when you wouldn't give me what I wanted.

How could I love you lying passively beside me?
Don't you know me?
Me: sprawled out on my side
my back to you
knees shifting on one another
gently lifting my ass
and sighing lightly
breathing out seductively
hoping for some aggressive attention
hoping I'm worth the action.

I always wondered when there was the point
when one just gives in
and the pain takes on dull pleasure.

But pleasure never comes,

only screaming and fighting

screaming and fighting

screaming
and
fighting.

Annoyed I grab my clothes from the floor
even bending over to give you one last chance.
You ask if I'm alright
and I say yes, and even kiss you on the lips before I leave-
pulling my arms through the sleeves
as I walk placidly through the hallways.

I climb down the flights of stairs wondering what time it really is
I should have checked the clock.
The nights much darker from the late winter
but the snow has left the ground and a heavy jacket
and hands in pockets are enough to keep me warm
as I leave the front of your apartment
and walk the streets back home.

I'm lost in the headphones I've put on
to drown out the disappointments I saw in you
and I don't remember when it was
when I was finally dragged onto the ground
after being punched in the back.

But my pants are off,
well around my ankles
and I'm struggling with keeping the rest on.
Kicking whole heartedly in constricted attempts
and hearing small tears that won't rip me free.

And I'm punched again
as I claw
and as other things are inserted
pain rippling through inside
and inside
and inside
and inside
and inside
deeper
and out

and we still struggle
both attacking
and one loving-
not I.

I always wondered when there was the point
when one just gives in
and the pain takes on dull pleasure.

But pleasure never comes,

only screaming and fighting

screaming and fighting

screaming
and
fighting.

Oh dear Lord:
this is as good as it gets.

-Matthew Koutzun

I'll Get Down One Day

I'll Get Down One Day

Awoken
the sky out my 2nd floor window
was the most peculiar shade of blue.
It was actually purple masked by fog
and it eerie-d its way into me
tempting me to believe perhaps the world was ending.

So i prayed to God that moment
drowsy and tired and fell back to sleep
but I-

I had doubt whether I was doing everything in his favor
and doubt whether I should do favor to everything for him.

I'm a freewill baby
with religious dependencies.

And I don't know where this is going because soon after I dreamed more of being on a spaceship with those I care for, and continually living in the great unknown, living like I do today, searching streets and opportunities- like stars.

-Matthew Koutzun

You're so Vain / You probably think this poem is about you.

You're so Vain,
You probably think this poem is about you.

Oh, you're so vain.
You probably think those poems were about you.
But trust me,
there are others out there like you.
Doing the same things
in a different time.

If the universe is forever
then endless space
and endless time
means endless possibilities.

But forget all that,
remember-
this poem isn't about you.
You're so vain.

-Matthew Koutzun