Revolving doors are my all-time favorite pasttime.
There I am in the doorsill at the lake in a place called “Neptune”
Dressed to the nine’s for a half hearted man,
Unwilling to see his friends who stumbled into the mix, see him dance with “such a fatty.”
The next scene, I am washing my mouth out from the fireball I have ingested all evening
For a little boy who won’t take a selfie
At the park with his beloved girlfriend of three months.
The after taste is worse than the cinnamon I still can’t get off my breath.
Then the next scene I replay in my head
Is the other little boy who I spent years in between sea foam sheets
Trying to say “I love you” to who told me my waistline was divine
While he was fucking other people the whole time.
I can still see the clock as it tinkered to 9pm as I debated going to the bar once again
To see a smile on a man’s face I loved, than be stuck in the bottomless ocean
Of the boy’s bedroom as he went on Grindr in the next room.
My head is a sinking ship, seeing all the rooms I stumbled into
Where I should have exited promptly.
Even on the worst mornings, I still revolved in their realms
As if a moth to a match,
Or the earth to the pestering sun.
I always got too close and went ablaze.
Revolving doors have always been the most impressive mechanism
I thought was ever invented.
There is one memory, not long before you left this side of the universe
Where I couldn’t save face, seeing you walk with her hand in hand.
The memory burns, as does the unhinged and unfounded rage.
I wish Revolving doors hadn’t been invented but boy I loved stepping into them.
Here’s to less spinning and more learning these days.
collateral beauty 