#thelonesomeocean

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

Lot’s wife

Perhaps her fate was not too tragic after all. I sometimes wish I could turn to salt, slip through your fingers, and dissipate into the vastness of the ocean.

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

In Memory of a Mother: By a Grown Man

Come out from that hiding place you made after those days

When the glass was not half-empty

And we hadn’t yet deciphered the hieroglyphics

Of the English language.

I pinky promise that I won’t hurt you,

You pinky promise that you won’t let me,

And of all the things I’ve learned in life, the most important:

Never go back on a pinky promise.

Is this a rhetorical question?

The doctor is sorry for being two minutes too late,

The journalist for having to type the obituary,

The psychologist for losing a patient,

And I for finding irony in putting our soles between our feet

And the dead of winter.

A child has lost his mother,

A husband, his reason to live,

And I – I  believe that I have lost nothing,

That I will never lose anything…

“Daddy, does heaven have a phone?”

-Caitlin Vogt

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

You can tell a lot about a person by the way she sings the words wrong; what she thinks she hears in the lyrics.  Often times, the song benefits from the amendment.

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

"I found this life along with some spare change in my pocket. And though it may seem insignificant, I just couldn’t bring myself to spend it all in one place."

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

These Old Bones

These old bones, they moan,

With the low, melodic tone

Of our own words on your stone

Where the new moss has grown.

…

Oh, these old bones; they’re slow,

How they fold and they roll,

and almost grow cold

on that knoll by the road.

…

But, these old bones, I am told,

Have already sewn themselves whole

Once:

before these old bones had known

the hold of your broken soul.

-Caitlin Vogt

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

The Last Night of our Acquaintance

I have drifted in and out of existence, and have gotten myself stuck somewhere in between.

Between the things I say and the things I mean.

I mean, I don’t regret following you in the dead of night, always three-odd paces behind you (and a half-pace ahead).

A head is a terrible place to get lost. But I have been chasing the idea of you for years. Down smoke-infested halls of unmarked bars, and in the face of every stranger I have never met. You, always a flicker out of the corner of my eye, always a glimpse behind my eyelids.

I still find myself, sometimes, on that last night of our acquaintance: those goodbyes of ours half-spoken…

Those lips of yours half-kissed.  

-Caitlin Vogt

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

My First and Your Last

It was easy to love you

In the naked moonlight.

Your kisses weren’t promises,

Your caresses weren’t contracts,

But I still signed my name on the dotted line:

My first with your last.

-

It was easy to love you

In all that you weren’t.

Your imperfect body,

Your imperfect soul,

And your fractured ego:

The foundation of our makeshift romance.

-

But I learned that I did not love you

When I went away.

And I began signing my name:

My first with my last,

And I feel guilty knowing

That when you said you’d love me forever

You meant it.

-Caitlin Vogt

[neonlightaesthetic-blog]

...

Although I haven’t been touched by you in years,

Somehow you still make your presence felt - in my dreams,

And in my poetry.