i want to be a great poem on the book of this world and i want seaside and sunshine and less of this melancholy because the earth is spinning way too fast and i'm starting to feel it in my brain, my brain is the sun and it's burning through and now i'm on fire and the fire will eat me alive

like you ate me alive in the shadow of your house on that cold winter day, you swallowed me up like a shark in the ocean and your hands were cold and your lips were cold and my body was cold it was all so cold because winter was coming from inside of me and it wasn't a season it was just me

being a season can change you, and since i wasn't summer i wasn't loved by children or school kids, i was death and i was snowdrifts and 9 am phone calls of car crashes from ice, i was wet that chilled your bones and put all of your fires out and i was there in the frost and windchill of 60 miles per hour

you drove me in your car to the hospital faster than 60 miles per hour that one day when i took too many pills and i asked you if it was okay for me to die and you said absolutely not because i was the reason behind your heartache and you didn't want it to be dull pain for the rest of your life

*(a.m.c.)

there hasn't been a black hole
as big as the yellow-orange sun
inside of my chest and my stomach
and my ribs and my arms and my legs
until now.
it feels like it'll never go away
like it'll keep ******* inward and inward,
a vacuum cleaner or ocean tides,
it'll swallow everything whole
until i've disappeared.
i am a comet shooting across your sky
i'm brief and i'm on fire and i'm burning
and then in a blink of an eye

i'm gone.

*(a.m.c.)

remember
a girl with a bloodstream filled with her brother's laugh
with seaside sand and bottled up ships on the shore
wind and rain, puddles for rainboots to stomp in
her tears taste like family vacations and disney movies
like memories not quite lost but fading
tree roots dig into her mother's backyard, saplings from an earlier life
leaves changing color, brain synapses disconnecting
the months will still move on through years, but time gets smaller
calendars move, people move, feelings move
life feels lonely and her paperbacks are ripping
all she wants is a glimpse of the past and to keep moving into the future
knitted scarves and mittens, snowdrifts and car crashes
piano scores and swimming pools and banana pudding
move through her system, let her remember, let her heal
talking trees and lord of the rings
mermaid tails and dog kisses
fairy wings and sunburn
baseball bats and runny noses
remember

*(a.m.c.)

I need to stop talking about you as if
you were dead,
could it be this is the only way to cope rather than knowing you're
still out there, somewhere, bleeding
shards of glass, grabbing for
something smoother, something
more stable, but the months pass by and shred away any chance you had
you become further and further away from who you are,
from what you were,
you're a shaky resemblance of your fathers past, an embodiment
of the pit inside your stomach and you're too
afraid to be alone in the dark and
in the light and
I'm afraid there's nothing
quite as terrifying as saying you're fine so many times you scream it while
you sleep or noticing
the erosion in everything; your
ex lover, your father, the bus driver,
the mirror, the degradation of you & i

Looking for lost lover's names
in a sea of make-believe.
Name, what is in a name?
Roses and ******* smell the same
no matter what you call them.
Meaning, memory, response,
or the lack thereof.
I was always one to hope
for things already gone.