Chase Gagnon Poems

I wanna be a poet when I grow up, Mrs. Evans
I want my past to terrorize me in my sleep
and die wif a needle in my vein.
I want ta be poor and impoverished
...

We're all equal in the eyes of the reaper
from the wild dreamers to the never-sleepers
once we're pulled up on his hook, we're all keepers.
He'll mount our souls in his rustic cabin
...

I miss the smell of the marijuana on your breath as we laughed at the world in the darkness of our filthy apartment. I used to hate the way it smelled, but I've been craving the contact high of your kiss. It's hard to believe that you're not breathing anymore, and your chest is motionless in the morgue. I refuse to believe that your lips are cold, and that you're lying naked without me there to touch you. Why would you leave me here alone? You were the only thing I had but I had everything in you. I found a strand of your hair on the pillow soaked in your nightmares, and then looked around our room hopelessly for your ghost. I don't know why I haven't cried… I guess there are just some things tears can never wash away, and I know you're one of ‘em.

I see the bottle of pills sitting on the nightstand. You placed them back so neatly before you drifted off, leaving only two in the clear orange container that glows like a grinning jack-o-lantern under the lamplight in an otherwise dark room. Two isn't enough to kill me, but maybe I could get a decent buzz and visit you in a hallucination of hell, where you sit before the devil's throne sucking his red ****. I'll vanquish him with the light of our love and take his throne, then get a boner for your lips that are warm again. We'll reside here forever and never get another eviction notice until the end of days, when we'll spiral into a never-ending darkness with the demons who scream almost as loud as you when I caress your **** in a world where sinners are saints.
...

I've seen Death — his shadow woke me
as he walked through the alley by my house
on his way to the gas station for a pack of smokes
and my neighbor who was bleeding out
...

I saw Jesus
on the corner of Lafayette and Chrysler
begging for change,
beard and all.
...

In a makeshift boat
I paddle through her enchanting iris
trying to reach the black island
of her soul,
...

I have a garden
with nothing but barbed wire
and dandelions
where ceramic gnomes
...

If suffering
had a color...
it would be periwinkle,
because purple sounds
...

As dawn climbs
up the flat horizon of
a sunflower
my dreams fan their petals
...