cried to the blues.

so last night i cried to the blues.

somewhere between nina simone's wailing about tired footsteps climbing up the stairs and the slamming of the front door i realized that maybe this was it.

maybe this is the last time the smell of chrome and yves st. laurent will walk the same hallways and dining room tiles as my blue sugar man.
the beeswax and twist-n-loc will go to waste.
there are no more locks to re-twist or scalps to grease.

there was no rain to make this breakup a mary j. blige cliche
and no blood red moon to stare at through the cracked blinds as he walked out the front door while my back was turned.

you ever stand in a living room with no furniture in a house with huge windows and stared sadly at a black street in a dark night that should somehow be representative of your emotions, but it's too dry?

and you beg for rain.
if not for you, at least to ruin the drive home for the motherfucker that just walked out with your last spoon and tea mug.

i stood - a black boy standing against this antique white wall staring at nothing. absolutely nothing.

maybe they'll make a movie. or maybe there will exist some white page carrying all these thoughts and words that couldn't find their way from my mouth.

we stood in the kitchen.
a few dishes to mumble under the breath about and a little sugar scattered on the counter.
his banana box filled with dishes we brought and trashbags my mom sent as a housewarming gift.
i was silent.

fuck the little message that hang on my grandmother's wall from that rusty ass nail:

if you love something
let it go
if it never returns
then it wasn't meant to be
if it returns
love it forever

and while we're at it, fuck build-a-bear.
how the fuck can he leave a stuffed monkey with his voice inside:

voice box: (press here) 'unconditionally you and me.'

and now i hate him for that.
and the toenail clippers he left are now in the trash next to the bananas that didn't make it.

the rain never came and his eyes stayed forward when he drove off.

my man's gone now.

and before the song's end
and the repeated gibberish
the tears began to flow like
kicked-over juice

my man's gone now.

and i felt like the old man by the river with nothing but his tears and his music.

yeah.
so last night i cried to the blues.