Long and long I wish at night.
Rip slowly then we speak.
Until we wound, ruin, and bruise one another; let us sleep.
I feel the words sloshing in me.
Waded ashore.
Valley’s drowned.
I wish i would have known you and you would have known…
At two. At three.
Can you hear me smiling?
Insomnia emBEDded in me.
Hold me (down)
When the rain comes; gravity pulls.
Eyes foggy.
Soak me in ink.
Violently i’ll twist and crack.
You repeat it until it loses it’s meaning.

"If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating."

You’re on it.
I fall right into you.
I think you know.
When you say:
“I wish I would have met you yesterday”
I spoke to a man with crooked teeth this morning.
Tapped my foot.
Craved something.
Nothing less.
(I think I made you up inside my head)
My constant need means beauty.
It pours from me and spills onto you like red wine.
I can smell it on your breath.
I look around the room and in each small thing, the root of a tree.
I feel the branches wrap around me.
“No matter what happens tonight”
I can taste the green.
It defines us.
It gives us a name.
Two bodies.
Separated but occasionally they meet.
To you: It’s everything.
To him: few and far between.
Me: I can’t decide.
Screaming: “Everything is grey. Everything will bleed!”

A vulture picks at a scab I got from skidding my knee.
I can feel it’s beak dig deeper and deeper, almost reaching my bones.
I’m starving, licking my lips and clutching my stomach.
The vulture feeds me my own flesh.
I can taste you.
Pressed up against silver.
You taste of pulled hair.
Black curtains.
I can smell you as you go down.
Fumes of detergent slipping out the corners of my mouth.
I feel as if you belong inside of me. But you start to exude.
The vulture grabs you by the nape of your neck, and licks you clean.
I feel sick.
I wish someone would clean me.

What a fool I was to do this.
64 cents to my name.
A vast offering,
You string me along a long and dark ever bounding set of trees.
Standard roses.
A man who lodged in the room next door, with a cold tongue.
I can still taste you.
SMACK.
Burning green.
Tiny swallowed patterns on my knees.
A woman asked me and I told her I would be lonely; looking onto the street.
He’s dressed in blue,
Wash (white clothes)


He had a winsome smile that you couldn’t see in a photograph.
It mimicked Michelangelo.
Brimming with confidence, then there was a heavy swell; caused by tidal surges.
Rolling waves that did not break.
Sangfroid.
How cold and calculated he was.


"I don’t drink, but I do karaoke" I’m told by a woman with a cigarette between her lips. I push myself into an old elevator. Below me; speakeasy. I want to make love to you in a room with a door that takes two hands to shut. Hardwood floors. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say; it hurts us?


I tried to drown them.
They would have never existed; moments between.
It used to be easier.

How could my mind have deleted so much?
I remember ripping out pages.
The next morning, I scrubbed and scrubbed at my skin.
Please tell me there is some word that will fill this void?
That tomorrow I will be clean, and you won’t have forgotten me?
Should you turn away; i’m sorry.
That’s all I know how to say.
I feel as if I have doused myself with gasoline.
Maybe if I give it a day, you’ll come back to me and kiss me in a whole new way?
Liquid screams.
Liquid laughs.
Is there really such a space between us?
Or has my chagrin ripped at us to the point where we don’t even bleed?
Why won’t you answer me?
Am I really that nauseating?
12:53.
What can I do? I’m not blind to this distance.
I cannot pretend.
I’m slamming my hands upon these keys, breaking.
Is this how it ends?
If I sent you a photograph; my skin showing.
Would it fill this chasm?
I feel like a cavity.
I’m counting one, two, three.
"Until then"
I’ll leave you be.
Until you want me again.

We are a sickness sometimes.
It has never been so easy.
I spent hours staring at a tiny screen.
I couldn’t stop spilling.
These hands still trembling.
Six months since I saw you.
There is relief in this.
In this moment; this memory.
Tuesday never came, not really.
Tonight we breathed heavily and I listened to you laugh.
It lifted something off of me.
I am so afraid that time will tell me nothing but ’I told you so’
That winter will come, and we will melt away.
I can only remember harvest gold.
It won’t come back to me.

"I am drowning in negativism, self-hate, doubt, madness."