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302 · May 2016
Exit through the back
-- May 2016
been trying to throw up for days,

cold hands replaced
for freezing eyes
and tongues glazing over
saying the words

“good-bye.”

so,

“I’ll see you around,”

you had to slip in
one more
     little
                                         white

                                         lie.
299 · Jun 2016
Dirty laundry
-- Jun 2016
Take out all my casualties
Hang them up to dry
Each one a similar color
But different size.

Reach in my pocket
There you'll find
The ones you forgot about
That makes nine.
298 · Jul 2016
Too Good
-- Jul 2016
You were fleeting,
like a perfect photo passing you by
on a long car ride,
the one you won’t forget about,
at least for the next few miles.

But I guess that’s what happens when you’re in transit,
you meet people and you let them pass you by,
because it’s not the right time.

They’re so beautiful-
maybe for just that moment,
and maybe even more beautiful than the ones who stayed,
because you know they’ll be gone soon.

Like soft serve sliding down your hand
in the heat of an afternoon,
there was a sense of urgency
to your sweetness
that only I could taste.
294 · Feb 2016
unfinished
-- Feb 2016
you and i are like
the words on this paper

they’re all unfinished
sentences with no periods

a boom-a-rang
with out a room

you and i are
sinking fast

bottom of the ocean
bottom of the bottle

you wrote the book
skipped the last chapter

silent but fast

sequel

a girl gone sad,

haven’t you had enough
of being had?
292 · Feb 2018
Perfect You
-- Feb 2018
blurring the lines between real and fake

i begin to wonder what life feels like looking through your eyes

my photos above your wall street desk

your hair always perfectly combed to one side

i feel like i don’t know you at all

like a specimen

i looked at you for so long

and it all still seems somehow foreign and familiar
the way you move around your room after a day of work
putting everything back in its exact place
like it never happened in the first place
292 · Feb 2018
every morning
-- Feb 2018
every morning i forget who i am
i paint my toes red once a month with ****** nail polish
i got for free at my old job
i drink luke warm coffee
too jittery to make a full nother ***

every morning i forget who i am
i wake up in a fog of everything I’ve ever not finished
and attach it to failure and attach that to my personality

i forget why i take photos or that i like photos

i forget that i don’t love you anymore
i forget you made me hate me
i forget you made my life a living hell for as long as i allowed you too
i forget that i’m not allowing that anymore
i forget that i love myself now
so every morning i relearn how
277 · Apr 2016
November
-- Apr 2016
Run away,
and maybe someday
you’ll come running back to me.

Run away,
and maybe this day
a clear blue sky will greet you, with a glass half full
of stars beneath your soft lit eyelids, sashaying
through fields of a dream.

You ran away,
and it’s okay.

I’ve fallen all over you,
but I know the way back up.

Just take the stairs,
even if it’s hard
and your heart beats heavy
and your breathing,
fast not steady.

I can show you the way,
back from hell.
I even left a light on,
show and tell.
275 · Jul 2016
Untitled
-- Jul 2016
Not so lightly do I look for you,
at night in the moon and
in the morning with my coffee.

I find you not in songs,
or in the scent of fresh laundry,
but in the shape my body makes
when I feel most happy.
273 · Oct 2017
Niagara Falls
-- Oct 2017
do you know how it feels
to dance around the aloneness so often
your arms feel like a temporary poncho
made of plastic rap
ready to rip
at the slightest sign of stress.
272 · Mar 2018
how does it taste
-- Mar 2018
you make my heart feel like rotten plum
soupy pulp beneath thin skin
waited too long to take a bite

now i’d like to see how you feel
watching someone else
sink their teeth in
267 · May 2016
Just Bad Enough
-- May 2016
To love you
today.



It's time to go
somewhere warmer.
-- Oct 2017
we’ve gathered up all our assets
put them in a room

made sure to pour the gas over
before the match is thrown
238 · Oct 2017
9 lives
-- Oct 2017
you'll slide your words
around my neck,
won't allow the leash
too much slack.

check my hands when i come back,
bring me peace with a kiss of my neck.

but like the dust beneath your feet
you overlook the small things,
like the way we first met.

a drunk girl spilling her words,
did you really think her instincts were dead?

has no one ever told you
you can't tame a wild animal
by holding the small of their back
and you've mistaken this one
for a house cat.
221 · Feb 2016
Untitled
-- Feb 2016
I keep count
of the words
you haven’t said.

You sent
two pictures,
instead.

For your silence,
is not close
to deceiving.

And I shall not rely
on all those
mixed messages,
and how
they’ve left
me feeling.

I’d like to say
good-bye,
but now,
that sounds
less
then appealing.

— The End —