A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river âŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸbut then heâ€™s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away âŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸbut then heâ€™s still left with his hands.

Richard Siken

Categorized in : Hands Men Sadness

Imagine that the world is made out of love. Now imagine that it isnâ€™t. Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they donâ€™t, theyâ€™ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.

Richard Siken

wall pain evil

When you have nothing to say,

Richard Siken

fire

I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way, and I don't want to be the kind that says the wrong way. But it doesn't work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats. There were some nice parts, sure, all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamas and the grain of sugar on the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I'm sorry it's such a lousy story.

Richard Siken

nice sorry numbers

I'm battling monsters, I'm pulling you out of the burning buildings/ and you say I'll give you anything but you never come through.

Richard Siken

burning monsters giving

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.

Richard Siken

clothes lakes dream

The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately, we donâ€™t have that kind of time.

Richard Siken

minutes kind desire

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more.

Richard Siken

love-you

Youâ€™re falling now. Youâ€™re swimming. This is not âŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸharmless. You are not âŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸâŸbreathing.

Richard Siken

breathing swimming fall

Fairy tales have rules. You are a princess or you arenâ€™t. You are pure at heart or you arenâ€™t. If you are pure at heart, or lucky, you might catch a break.

Richard Siken

princess lucky heart

Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.

Richard Siken

glasses dream writing

Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.

Richard Siken

destroyed crush lovers

Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

Richard Siken

rome here-i-am night

Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?

Richard Siken

staring horrible forgiving

You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.

Richard Siken

brother sleep father

We laugh & it pits the world against us.

Richard Siken

pits laughing world

I am singing now while Rome burns.

Richard Siken

rome singing

I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so itâ€™s summer, so itâ€™s suicide, so weâ€™re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

Richard Siken

suicide summer beautiful

I wouldnâ€™t kill your pony. Iâ€™d like to believe it, anyway. Iâ€™d like to believe I wouldnâ€™t drag you out in to the woods and leave you there, either. So far, it hasnâ€™t come up.

Richard Siken

ponies woods believe

The narrator blames the birds. And you want to blame the birds as well. I blamed the birds for a long time. But in this story everyone is hungry, even the birds. And at this point in the story so many things have gone wrong, so many bad decisions made, that itâ€™s a wonder anyone would want to continue reading.

Richard Siken

reading bird long

A kid under a tablecloth insists heâ€™s a ghost. A table underneath a tablecloth is, I guess, like the rest of us, only pretending to be invisible.

Richard Siken

tables ghost kids