i made love once
once while I slept,
while i slept off the whiskey
slipped off my clothing and
stepped off the curb.
and awoke to the smell of
something musky
dank - rusty?
i made love once
over the course of a week
i made love to four bottles
and me.

My upper lip is still tingling from your upper lip's stubble,
and I am feeling nostalgic tonight.
Don't tell me to take care of myself,
I'm not joking when I say I'm looking for ways to
slowly force my body to shut down for good.
This place is a ghost town at this golden hour of 3 am.
I'm killing myself slowly.
I was brought up broken.
Skipping school, long bus rides going nowhere,
flashbacks like picture shows of a young, hopeless hooligan.
When I look in the mirror, I still see that child,
and she haunts me.
I've gotten by, by romanticizing the pain.
Finding beauty in the hard times
bad, ugly, sorrow dripping
hard drugs in bathtubs
like a movie scene before the upswing
and the happily ever after.
Though this life's been a cinematographic goldmine,
I just don't see the conclusion as being so bright.
Forever waiting on that upswing,
and there's simply no happily ever after in sight.
Who knew we'd still survive after so many years of
persistently seeking death ?
I never thought I'd end up here today.
So much has occurred I could've never predicted.
I never thought I'd seek the things I've sought,
There is so much of me that's still very much the same.
I never thought I'd carry this apathy so close all these years...
Who am I to plead remembrance,
when I've consistently chosen the path of least resistance ?
I am nothing.
Perhaps someday I'll fertilize the soil beneath your feet,
in this moment, that's where my aspirations lie.
In this moment, my concerns lie for those who's window lies across from my parking spot where my headlights shine bright as I arrive home at 3 am rather than for my car's broken mirrors or my expired license plate numbers.
Moved out to the suburbs sometime late August,
and in this moment, I'd be lying if I said I didn't often appreciate those long solo drives home in the early hours of the morning.
A tobacco smoke filled vehicle is my go-to place for self reflection.

I tried to tally each flicker of your eyes towards me
for they were numbered.
One night means everything
in a world where everything is not enough.

Your limbs danced over me like a tree caught in a breeze
and I miss your shade.
Though you know nothing yet
that I am a rolodex of excuses.
Once card for each scar carved into my chest.

Will you read them to me?
I need to feel the sting
for I can no longer tell if I am awake.

There is something inside of me that won't let me sleep.
A pinch licked onto my shoulder
breathing the stench of reality.

The hairs on the back of my neck reach far
as to protect me.
But I am exposed
and I'm so ******* tired.

My lids so heavy I can stretch them up and over my head.
A masochistic joke I play with myself.

There is something hiding that won't let me sleep.
Licking it's fingers before it takes hold of my neck.

It wants to take a good look at me.
Get a good look at me.

My head was in her lap.
Her friend was driving fast.
Too fast. Way too fast.
She wrapped her arms around me.
It was cold and late and I'm in a stranger's car.
No. I met him that morning. It's fine.
Oh god. Are we going to crash?
She hushed me.
Have I been shivering this whole time?
She laid her jacket over me as a makeshift blanket.
The car is still too fast.
The music is too loud and it's dark.
Am I dying? No it's fine. She's got me.
How long has it been since we left?
Oh ****, wasn't he drinking?
We're going to die. Why did I come with?
She tells him to slow down.
I somehow mutter out a sorry to him.
I'm laying in the backseat of a half-stranger's car.
The leather interior is sticking to me.
It's not as cold as it was before.
…
…
…
Am I still awake? I can't move.
Did I die? No, I still feel her there.
She's rubbing my back, I think.
I'm asleep. Wait am I? Yes.
I think so. It's okay.
We're at her house.
We made it.
I made it.
It's okay.