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."