It was almost February and winter still hadn’t hit. I was beginning to
think that it wouldn’t arrive, and that spring was here. One evening as I was walking down the streets of the city I looked up to see a single snowflake falling down to meet my face. It was tiny and looked lonely, but a few moments later, it was followed by several more snowflakes. Sooner than later, the ground was covered in a white sheet of snow. and I was stuffing my hands in my coat pockets and pulling my hood on to brace myself against the bone-chilling wind. I made my way into a small coffee shop that was still open and was greeted by a short stocky man in his mid thirties with a dark, curly mustache and sleeves of faded tattoos.
“Hello” he said, his voice sounding deep and smooth. I pulled out my headphones that were burning in my ears, pressed pause on my phone and shoved them carelessly in my messenger bag.
“Hello”, I replied back with a slight smile, pulling my hands out of my
pockets and making my way to the counter.
The shop was small, but it had a staircase leading upstairs with more room for seating. The man who stood behind the counter continued to unpack small plastic covered packages, putting them away in cupboards and freezers. I pulled out my wallet from my bag and plopped it on the counter, feebly attempting to pull out my card with my hands shaking violently from the cold.
“What a night”, the man said, his eyes still focused on his duties.
“Hmm.” I said, nodding. “Can I get a 12oz mocha, please?” The man looked up from his package, and giggled coyly.
“Sure you can, sweetheart." He put the package that he was holding down below him, and began making the drink I had just ordered. My credit card held tightly in my hand, still shaking. There was awkward silence between us and I got the feeling the man understood I didn’t feel like talking. He finished my order, filling a small, white ceramic mug, and pushed it across the counter towards me.
“Anything else?”
I shook my head, implying no and handed him the cold card. He swiped it and handed it back to me, along with a receipt and a pen to sign. I signed the receipt, grabbed my coffee and headed up the stairs to my right. Upstairs, there was a large room with a dining room looking table and several chairs, and to the left, and a small hole in the wall with several cushions. I smiled at the welcoming spot, and took a seat. Pulling a small table up next to me, I set my coffee down, and rested my bag on the floor below me. The upstairs was completely empty. In fact; the entire shop was empty besides the man working downstairs. I took a deep breath in and let my head rest on some of the cushions behind me. Closing my eyes, I let out my breath and felt the warmth and the vast history of the shop run envelop me. I grabbed at the cup beside me and sipped at my coffee. It was still too hot to drink comfortably, so I set it down. Out of my bag, I pulled out my phone with the headphones still attached and scrunched into a tight tangled ball.
Untangling them, I placed each bud in my ear, and pressed play, continuing the song I had stopped when I had entered the coffee shop. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and I sunk deeper and deeper into the pillows around me, the smell of old books seeping into my skin. Finally, I closed my eyes, and after a few moments, was sound asleep.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a man’s face, unfamiliar but comforting.
“Excuse me…” he said, with a wide grin.
I jumped with embarrassment; ripping my headphones out of my ears, although they were no longer playing anything. How long had I been asleep? And who was this young man? An employee of the shop? A customer?
“Sorry!” I yelped.
The man chuckled as I swung my feet around to the floor and pulled out my phone to check the time. Realizing it was dead, I scanned the room for a clock and with no success I asked the stranger “What time is it?”
He rolled up his sleep, and checked what to be a rather expensive watch. The man was dressed nicely, but nothing too formal. A clean pair of black jeans, a plaid shirt and a sweater over it. His hair, a dark brown looked thick and slightly curled. He ran his fingers through it as he responded. “It’s quarter past.”
“Past what?”
He blinked at me. “Eight…” he paused at my confused look. “A.M”
I gasped at the time. It was just past nine at night when I had dozed off.
Why did the short stalky man not wake me? Did he forget I was upstairs?
Maybe he assumed I had left, and just missed me doing so.
“I…I…” I stumbled upon my words. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, still
unsure who this man was.
“My boss told me you’d be up here.” He lifted my cup of cold coffee and
handed it to me. “I can get you a warm cup if you’d like. We don’t open for another half hour.”
I nodded, and with the cup in hand, the man turned and headed down the stairs. I gathered my things, smoothed out my shirt, tossed my hair to one side and followed the man down the stairs.
“My names Elliot” he shouted from behind the counter and the noises of the coffee machine.
“Ellie.” I shouted back.
A door swung open and in Elliot’s hand was a new cup of coffee.
“That’s a coincidence.”
I smiled nervously and took the cup from the man.
“Sit.” he said, nodded to a table.
I followed his instructions and set my cup down and pulled out a chair.
He stared at me for a moment as I stared at my coffee. After a long moment of silence, I started.
“I am so sorr-”
He stopped me and reached out, resting his hand on top of mine.
“It’s alright Ellie…really.”
I had a few questions but didn’t know where to start. So I let the silence
continue.
“My boss figured you needed a place to stay.”
I wasn’t homeless. Did I look homeless?
“Do you...have somewhere to go…?”
I nodded. “I’m not homeless…” I proclaimed. I couldn’t help but stare at
his hands. There was something different about them from the rest of the
man.
“I figured. You’re too well dressed to be homeless.” He smiled, and his
hands moved up and through his hair again.
“So, if you’re not homeless then what’s your story?”
My story? I didn’t have a story. I was a young single girl. Lonely. Living
on her own in the city. On her way home when a snow storm hit. I just stopped into the coffee shop to get warm, not to spend the night like some refugee.
“My story?”
“Yeah, your story.” he continued to grin at me.
I paused to think of an answer.
“I was just on my way home. Stopped in for a cup of coffee. Guess I didn’t
drink enough of it.”
He laughed at the comment, showing a set of pearly white teeth.
“Maybe it wasn’t a very good cup of coffee.” He glanced at the cup in front of me. I lifted it and took a sip.
“This cup’s better.” We both laughed softly, then found each other staring
for long while at one another.
“I’ll make sure not to tell my boss you said that.”
I took another sip. “I should probably go…” I said, standing up.
“Go where?”
“Home.”
He shook his head chuckling slightly. “Hang out. I’ll open late.”
“I don’t want to be more of an inconvenience than I already have been.”
Elliot reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing it softly.
“Ellie.”
My eyes grew wide, and I felt my heart beat quickly within my chest.
“Let’s not play games with one another. Stay.”
I pulled my hand away, and bit my lip.
“I can’t. I’m sorry Elliot.” I grabbed my bag from under the table, and thew
it across my shoulder. “Thank you…” I said, thinking of his hands but
staring at the blue in his eyes. I turned around, and pushed the door open.


---------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------

It was Valentine’s Day (or as I like to call it “Singles Awareness Day” ) and my friend had dragged me out to this terrible bar in the suburbs  titled “Distraction” My friend, who was newly single and “ready to mingle” laughed when she saw the big blue sign with the name.
“That’s an ironic name” she said, snickering.
I nodded my head and groaned as we headed inside. She was right. What was this bar distracting me from? If anything, it was drawing more attention to the things I was supposed to be distracted from by just existing with such a name. My friend walked up to the bar, leaned against a stool and ordered something sweet. She asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head no. After a few minutes of small talking with her, and watching her sip at her watered down drink, I noticed a young man walking towards us. The bar was dimly lit, and I couldn’t quite make him out but I sighed and turned towards the bartender.
“*** and coke” I hollered out to the man. “Pour heavy!”
I stayed facing the shelves of drinks, the different bottles organized by color and type. Whiskey, Tequila, *****. Suddenly, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder and with a deep inhale, I turned; expecting some man with sleeked back hair and a bad tan to be facing me.
Instead, it was Elliot. Staring at me, standing inches from my face. I took a step back into a bar stool, and fell into a seat.
“Ellie” he said, smiling.
I couldn’t help but smile for a moment too, but then I quickly wiped it away as the bartender slid my drink to the right of me. Before I could do anything, Elliot placed a few dollars on the counter.
“You don’t have to -“
“It’s fine”  He continued to smile widely.
I looked around the room for my friend, she was across the room playing darts with some broad shouldered man. I took my glass, placed the straw on the counter and gulped down about half of it in one drink.  
“Happy Valentines Day” he said, almost sarcastically following the statement with a slight laugh.
I felt myself smiling again and took another gulp. The bartender definitely poured heavy. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, and I clenched my teeth. I could tell Elliot was trying hard not to laugh.
“Would you like to dan-“
I bursted out laughing.
“Dance? Oh god, please. Don’t do this Elliot.”
He stared at me widely for a moment. “What are you so afraid of Ellie?”
I scoffed, and shook my head, taking another drink I responded
“I’m not afraid of anything”
He blinked at me, then ran through his fingers through his hair and breathed out loudly.
“Is it me?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer this, or what he was really even asking. I stumbled on my words, stuttering. I finished my drink, and set the glass down on the counter.
“Another?” he asked.
“No...” I paused. “Thank you”
He stared at me for a moment, his brows furrowed. He reached out to touch me, and I pulled away.
“Ellie...Let me-“
I interrupted him and shouted out “space!”
He looked puzzled, then chuckled.
“What?”
“I’m afraid of space”
“Space....? Please elaborate.”
“Like the sky, and the planets and the stars and ****”
He laughed softly. “And ****...”
“Think about it. We have no idea what’s out there. We have no idea what’s coming for us. We are so small, comparatively.”
“So you believe in aliens?”
“I believe in possibility”
“Anything could happen.”
“Exactly! Right now, as we speak, the sun could explode.”
“Or, aliens could invade!”
“You’re really stuck on the alien thing.”
“It’s a possibility”
We both sat in silence for a moment, his eyes felt heavy on me. I stood up from my stool, our bodies were almost touching.
“I’ve got to go see if my friends OK.” I said, glancing over at her. She was still playing darts with the broad shoulder man. He had his arms wrapped around her, ‘showing’ her how to hold the dart now.
“She looks like she’s doing ok to me” Elliot said with a snicker.
I didn’t argue.
“What’s your last name?” he asked.
I shook my head violently. “Look, Elliot. You seem-“ I stopped and thought of how I wanted to finish my sentence, but before I could, Elliot grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
“Ellie. I’m just a man. I’m not some comet coming down or some alien race a million light years away. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
I took a few shallow breaths, my heart was pounding. I tried pulling away, but Elliot just pulled himself closer to me.
“You said you believe in possibility. You can’t deny the possibility of you and me.”
“I...”
He reached up, and tucked a hair that was falling down my face behind my ear then stepped back, letting go of my hand.
“I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to help you conquer your fear”
“Oh?”
He grabbed my hand again and pulled me towards the door, I looked over to my friend, but didn’t fight him.
“She’ll be okay.” he said, still tugging me.
I followed him out the door and down the street. We stopped and hailed a cab, as one pulled up, he opened the door for me.
“Get in.”
“I don’t even know you. You could be taking me to some wear house to **** and ****** me!”
“Ellie. Don’t be so dramatic. Get in”
“Where are we going?”
“To the moon.”
“And back again?”
“We’ll see. Maybe once you get there, you’ll never want to leave.”
“It’s a possibility”
I stepped inside the cab, and so did he.

------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------


Once we were in the cab, the rush of excitement I was feeling in the bar and in the street had faded. Elliot handed the man his phone, which had an address written on it. The cabbie put the address into his GPS and started the meter as he drove on.
“So are we taking the cab to the moon? Or are we just taking the cab to NASA and then a spaceship to the moon?” I said sarcastically, my voice breaking from nervousness. Elliot put his hand on my leg, and sat back into his seat without saying anything.
“Who’s paying for the cab Elliot?”
He continued to be silent. I turned at stared out the window, I noticed the cab was taking us out of the city and I began to get a little worried.
“Can you please tell me where we’re going?” I asked quickly. I looked back at Elliot, he was sweating.
“Elliot? Is everything OK?” His eyes were shut and his breathing was heavy.
“I’m afraid of things in motion.” he muttered softly.
“Isn’t everything in motion?” he opened his eyes, raised his brows and then smiled at me.
“I mean, the world is always turning and we’re walking, or breathing. So we’re moving, no matter what-“
“Can you be quiet please?”
I looked back out the window again for what felt like a long while. Finally, the cab stopped in front a large abandoned dome like building in a town I had never been in. Elliot was quick to exit the cab, and circle the car to open my door. I stepped out, Elliot paid the driver and the cab drove away.
“So you ARE going to **** and ****** me?”
Elliot looked at me, and took my hand.
“I’m sorry about in the car. What mean by things in motion is like, cars and trains and planes and...” he paused, “and ****...”
We both laughed.
“I knew what you meant. I’m sorry if I was being difficult.”
He gave me a look and I nodded at him. He took me by the hand and led me closer to the building. We reached a door that had been boarded up.
“This doesn’t look like the moon...Or NASA...”
“Ellie. Do you trust me?”
“I...I don’t really even know you so-“
Elliot pried back at the board, slipping into the building through a small space and pulled me inside with him. The room we stepped into was a circle, and in the center; a large telescope.
“Does that even work?”
He squeezed my hand, then let go. Approaching the telescope, he stepped up a small set of stairs to a control panel. He pushed a few buttons and a few moments later, I heard a whirring and a low rattle followed by a deep sound. I felt a slight vibration and suddenly the roof was opening above me, exposing the night sky. On this night, the stars were bright, and the moon was full.
“Come here” Elliot called out from near the telescope.
I started to shake only slightly at the sight of the sky above me, I felt frozen and tense, as if I couldn’t move. Elliot made his way down the stairs and towards me.
“It’s okay Ellie.” he said, reaching for my hand and guiding me towards the telescope. We stepped up the stairs, and he stood next to me, still holding my hand as he adjusted a few things, looking in the telescope, then at me, then back through the telescope. He turned towards me, nudging me.
“Go ahead.”
I looked at the giant metal telescope, and shook my head.
“I really appreciate what you’re trying to do here but-“
He put his hand on my lower back, and pushed me towards the telescope.
“Just look.”
I put my face close to the telescope, an

There is no storm.
There is no expanding.
If you listen carefully you can hear the heart.
Red.
Before me.
Sun.
Blood.
War.

ONE

It’s not solid.

Solip.

It wants.

It speaks.

To the moon. The sky.  

It’s not hollow.

Where did it go?

It sleeps in me.

Moves to the right.

Clings to it’s neighbor.

Blinking.

Perhaps one day it will crawl back.

Where is it coming from?

Within the tree.

Magnolia

TWO

It’s late in the evening; a waterfall asks “what’s the ocean like?”

He does not stop in shock at the words.

She scraped her hair back behind her ears and raked her knee.

It could be a fine place. In constant motion.

"This could be heaven if we made it such"

It lives richly and goes mad.

Like a racehorse. A river.

It is married to shadow.

It asks for nothing.

Scene VI – The Car Ride


Location notes: Quai Henri IV is located on the Right Bank just west of Pont d’Austerlitz.

Jesse: Glad somebody does. Now, this is better than the Metro, right?

Céline: Definitely!

(The camera cuts ahead of the car, leading it as it pulls onto the main road. The conversation continues.)

Céline: I was thinking...for me it's better I don't romanticize things as much anymore. I was suffering so much all the time. I still have lots of dreams, but they're not in regard to my love life. (Cut to interior of the car.) It doesn't make me sad, it's just the way it is.

Jesse: Is that why you're in a relationship with somebody who's never around?

Céline: Yes, obviously, I can't deal with the day to day life of a relationship. Yeah, we have, you know, this exciting time together and then he leaves, and I miss him, but at least I'm not dying inside. When someone is always around me, I'm like suffocating!

Jesse: No, wait, you just said that you need to love and be loved...

Céline: Yeah, but when I do it quickly makes me nauseous! It's a disaster... I mean I'm really happy only when I'm on my own. Even being alone...it's better than...sitting next to a lover and feeling lonely. It's not so easy for me to be all romantic. You start off that way and after you've been ******* over a few times...you...you…you forget about all your delusional ideas and you just take what comes into your life. That's not even true I haven't been...******* over, I've just had too many blah relationships. They weren't mean, they cared for me, but... there were no real...connection or excitement. At least not from my side.

Jesse: God, I'm sorry, is it...is it really that bad? It's not, right?

Céline: (Shaking her head with eyes nearly watering.) You know...it's not even that. I was...I was fine, until I read your ******* book! It stirred **** up, you know? It reminded me how genuinely romantic I was, how I had so much hope in things, and now it's like...I don't believe in anything that relates to love. I don't feel things for people anymore. In a way...I put all my romanticism into that one night, and I was never able to feel all this again. Like...somehow this night took things away from me and...I expressed them to you, and you took them with you! It made me feel cold, like if love wasn't for me!

Jesse: I... I don't believe that. I don't believe that.

Céline: You know what? Reality and love are almost contradictory for me. It's funny...every single of my ex’s...they're now married! Men go out with me, we break up, and then they get married! And later they call me to thank me for teaching them what love is, and…

Jesse: (Smiling sympathetically.) Oh God. (Rubs his face with both hands.)

Céline: …and that I taught them to care and respect women!

Jesse: (Pointing at himself.) I think I'm one of those guys.

Céline: (Yelling.) You know, I want to **** them!! Why didn't they ask ME to marry them? I would have said "No", but at least they could have asked!! But it's my fault, I know it's my fault, because...I never felt it was the right man. Never! But what does it mean the right man? The love of your life? The concept is absurd; the idea that we can only be complete with another person is...EVIL!! RIGHT??!!

Jesse: (Sheepishly.) Can I talk?

Céline: (Speaking more quietly.) You know, I guess I've been heartbroken too many times. And then I recovered. So now, you know, from the starts I make no effort…because I know it’s not going to work out, I know it’s not going to work out.

Jesse: You can't do that. You can't do that, you can't live your life trying to avoid pain, at the expense of en...

Céline: (Interrupting.) OK, you know what? (Moving her fingers to mock the movement of Jesse’s mouth as he speaks.) Those are words! I've gotta...I've gotta get away from you. (To Philippe.) Stop the car, I want to get out!

Jesse: No, no, no, don't...don't get out.

Céline: You know, it's being around you...

Jesse: Keep talking...

Céline: (Jesse grabs her arm) Don't touch me! (Slaps his hand.) You know, I wanna get on a cab...

(To Philippe.) Monsieur! Arretez-vous! Non, non, c'est bon, au feu la! Juste au feu, au coin, il y a un metro meme! Je veux prendre le metro. (Sir, please stop! No, no, it’s okay, at the next traffic light, at the corner, there is even a metro! I want to take the metro.)

Jesse: (To Philippe) No, no, no, keep going... (To Céline) No, listen, I'm just so happy... (To Philippe) Thank you, just keep going...(To Céline.) Alright. Look, I am just so happy, alright...to be with you. I am. I'm so glad you didn’t forget about me. OK.

Céline: No, I didn't...and it ****** me off, OK? You come here to Paris, all romantic, and married, OK? ***** you! Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to get you or anything. I mean, all I need is married man! There's been so much water under the bridge, it's...it's not even about you anymore, it's about that time, that moment in time that is forever gone, I don't know!

Jesse: You...you say all that, but you didn't even remember having ***. So...

Céline: (Flatly, with resignation.) Of course I remembered.

Jesse: (Confused.) You did?

Céline: Yes! Women pretend things like that. I don’t know…(Laughs.)

Jesse: (Still confused.) They do?

Céline: Yeah, what was I supposed to say? That I remember the wine in the park and...us looking up at the stars fading away as the sun came up? We had *** TWICE (claps her hands), you idiot!

Jesse: Alright, you know what? I'm just...happy to see you, even if...you've become an angry, manic depressive activist. I still like you! I still enjoy being around you!

(Reaches out to touch her face, but pulls his hand back quickly, before she notices.)

Céline: And I feel the same. (Laughing.) I'm...I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. I just...I had to let it all out. I...

Jesse: Don't worry about it.

Céline: I'm so miserable in my love life, in my relationship, I always act as... like...you know, I'm detached, but I'm... I'm dying inside. I'm dying because I'm so numb. I don't feel pain, or excitement. I'm not even bitter, I'm just...uh…

Jesse: You think you're the one dying inside? My life is twenty four-seven...BAD.

Céline: I'm sorry.

Jesse: No, no, no...I mean, the only happiness I get is when I'm out with my son. I've been to marriage counseling, I've done things I never thought I would have to do. I lit candles, bought self-help books, lingerie...

Céline: Did the candles help?

Jesse: HELL. NO. (Plaintively.) Alright, I don’t love her the way she needs to be loved, and...I don't even see a future for us. But then I look at...at my little boy, sitting at the table across from me, and I think I would suffer any torture to be with him for all the minutes of his life. You know, I don't wanna miss out on one. But then...there's no joy, or laughter, in my home. You know, and I don't want him growing up in that!

Céline: Oh, no laughter? That's terrible. My parents have been together for 35 years and even when they have a bad fight they end up laughing like crazy.

Jesse: I just...I don't wanna be one of those people who are...getting divorced at 52 and falling down into tears admitting that they never really loved their spouse, and they feel that their life has been (waves his hand, as if being pulled) ****** up into a vacuum cleaner! You know, I want a great life. I want her to have a great life. She deserves that! Alright? But we're just living in a pretense of a marriage, responsibility and all these...just...ideas of how people are supposed to live. Then I...I have these dreams...

Céline: What dreams?

Jesse: (Looks away distantly, eyes starting to water.) I have these dreams, you know, that I’m…I'm standing on a platform, and uh, you keep going by on a train, and...you go by, and you go by, and you go by, and you go by, and I wake up with the ******* sweats, you know? And then I have this other dream, oh...where you're...pregnant, in bed beside me, naked, and I want so badly to touch you, but you tell me not to and then you look away and...and I...I...I touch you anyway, right on your ankle and your skin is so soft and I wake up in sobs, alright? (Inhales deeply.) And my wife is sitting there looking at me, and I feel like I'm a million miles from her, and I know that there's something...wrong! (Céline reaches out to stroke Jesse’s face, but pulls her hand back before he sees her.) You know, that I ca...that I can't keep living like this, that there's gotta be something more to love than commitment. But then I think that...I might have given up...on the whole idea of romantic love. That I...I might have put it to bed that...that day when you weren't there. You know, I think I might have done that.

Céline: (Eyes starting to water again.) Why are you telling me all this?

Jesse: I'm sorry. I don't know, I'm...I...I should...I...I shouldn't have.

Céline: You know, it's so weird...that people think they are the only one going through tough times. I mean when I read the article I thought...your life was perfect. A wife, a kid, a published author. (Jesse laughs.) Your personal life is more of a mess than mine! I'm sorry! (Both laugh.)

Jesse: Well...I'm glad it's good for something.

Céline: (To Philippe.) Oh, monsieur, c'est la! Rentrez dans la passe la. (Sir, this is it. Pull into the alley right there.)

(Camera cuts to exterior of the car pulling into the driveway of Céline’s apartment.)

I'm wearing the t-shirt you left.
It was stuffed in the corner of my room.
In a small space between the bed and the wall.
It emits the scent of your skin.
And embodies the softness of your hands.
It reminds me of how your arms don't begin to tan until just below your elbows.
I fill my palms with it's fabric and breathe in deeply.
I think I can smell sweat.
It rested on the bridge of your nose last night.
Dripped down into your tear duct.
I looked at you as I came into the room, you were laying on your stomach with the blanket wrapping you like a cocoon.
We fell asleep, but occasionally I would wake to the sensation of your lips on my shoulder blade.
I remember feeling something in my stomach.
I remember wishing you would kiss me good morning.
Don't say 'adieu'.

Vacancy
She smells of sugar
Scrapes at my skin
with long black cat nails
Asks me to stay
With a white dress
Clawing ever so sweetly
Its entrancing
Pointing indirectly
Kissing my cheek
I'm not sure where she's looking
Or living
Somewhere in between dimly lit and too bright to see
Touching everyone
Feeling everything

I want to rip you off - but you don't come off easy.
I want to get you off - but it's not that simple.
You tend to sleep & I tend to talk.
And talk and talk.
I tend to leap & you tend to walk.
I skid my knee.
But I never stop.
I keep going.
On and on like a bandaid.
Bleeding underneath.
But that won't stop us from seeping out the sides.
Well get soggy and soft over time.
Only water will wash it off.
So I'll stay dry in this heat.
I'll keep it turned up to ninety.
Giving everything and what am I getting?
We need stitches.
We need surgery.
It won't help anything.
Just a bandaid.
We'll just keep bleeding.
We're dying.

I wish that this man, this mannequin: would breathe.
(That he would kiss me passionately)
I wish that this man, this mannequin: would speak.
That he would call
(I would go running)
Pathetically.
I wish that this man, this mannequin: would show me.
Show me maps of this city
(I could fall asleep)
I know that he is listening.
For all a man (a mannequin) can do; is attend.
I am howling
(the wind wakes me in the morning)
I wish that this man, this mannequin: would stop (collecting)
I have a collection of moments that I let play in my mind
(On a movie screen)
The mannequin has me.
I revealed to him: red wine.
(I'm not sure he see's me)
I wish that this man, this mannequin: would be.

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."

When I moved to this town, I dreamed that one day I would own the little yellow boathouse that sat on the riverside (the one with the white trim) From what I heard, it was abandoned years ago, and no one in the town had bothered ever fixing it up, so slowly it decayed. But I always pictured myself making the repairs necessary to turn it into the beautiful home I imagined it once was. I would turn the corner room that faced the water into an office and spend my summers working on my novel.
But today, Caleb, the youngest son of the neighbor boys who lived in the house down the street told me it had been destroyed by an old oak tree that stood behind it. When he told me the news, he and I were standing out in the long driveway, my hands wrapped around my coffee mug.
‘There’s nothing here’ I thought. ‘Just him and I’ (and I was air) ‘so it’s just him here.’
I dropped off my cup inside and headed across town to see the damage. I reached the house by noon, and as I stood, staring out at what was left of what was supposed to be my home one day, I began to sob. I felt like a child. All of my dreams had been crushed, literally. The tree reminded me of a giant spiderweb, it was bare and it’s branches stretched out like long fingers, wrapping themselves around the house. Besides the river, the wind was the only sound I could hear. It whistled and howled at me.
I had given up the one thing that inspired me: my city. For this. A little house on the river. It’s like I ripped off my skin, and all that remained was my bones, and all they could do was clank together in the cold like a wind chime.
Everything was upside down. This is not how I imagined my life. I had nothing mapped or planned, but where I was now seemed so far away from where I envisioned myself being. Everything was unfamiliar to me, and it frightened me. All I wanted to do was take gasoline to whatever it was I had created here, and start a new. But this tipsy topsy life was mine, and I had to make do.


He picks me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminds me of crinkled paper, or mashed potatoes. We sit silently in the car at first, then he begins to tell about a woman he had encountered today. The word ‘*****’ comes out of his mouth so smoothly. But when I hear it, I feel it’s sting on me like wasps. Is there something to be said to prevent me from becoming that woman? (if i’m not already) A woman he hates? A woman he resents? A woman who’s dry in the morning and too boring in the evening? My tongue curls and I feel my stomach coil. Men use the word ‘*****’ to describe women who are strong. Women who are assertive. And when men feel threatened, or rejected or emasculated by a woman, all they can say is “that *****”. There is no male equivalent. There’s no word like “*****” for men. Sure, there’s ‘*******’ and ‘*****’ or ‘******’ but none of them feel as harsh. None of them sting like ‘*****’ does.


We pull into the long driveway, and pass the other neighbor boy who’s name I honestly can’t remember. When we get into the house, he pulls me into the bedroom.
“I need you” he says.
‘What’s the difference between want and need?’ I ask myself. There isn’t much we NEED. To eat. To sleep. To drink. I NEED a drink. He WANTS me. It’s a primal thought. Instinct. I am not a need, not really. But he knows how I think. He  know’s “need” works on me. Because I hear “need” and feel desired, until I’ve been had. And then I remember “need” means “want” and I remember “need” means he’s tricked me.
I think what we all REALLY need is a day. Spring cleaning for our insides. Be it your body or mind. For the housewives of Castle Creek, that means cleanses, and binging. For me, it means sitting down with a leatherback journal and a good pen. Scribbling down everything and anything that comes into my mind. No filtration. No distractions.

He finishes, kisses me on the cheek, and disappears. I’m left on the bed, my dress pulled up, exposed. And so, a few minutes later, after I’ve collected myself, I head down the hallway to the kitchen. I have become the woman I never wanted to be. The woman who’s making dinner for her husband as he sits and watches some terrible Tom Cruise movie. It makes me sick how average my life has become. ‘What a sad way to live.’ I think. Just like everyone else. But I am not everyone else. If I were, perhaps everything here would be so much easier. I am not the woman the people of this town want me to be. I am far too artsy. Far too independent. When I walk into the grocery store, people stare at me. As if they were looking at a wanted poster. The worst part of going to the store isn’t the weird looks. I’m used to that by now. It’s the music. Smooth jazz. It makes me feel like i’m in an elevator. An elevator that’s stuck, and i’m waiting for someone to come and rescue me. But no one’s coming. I’m stuck in Castle Creek. The world’s smallest, ******* elevator in the United States.

"You are my favorite poet" he says
Then curls himself around me
I sit and lick the sugar from the glass
Saturated in self pity
I like the way he looks at me
It's almost as if he's pressing his eyes against mine
My chest feels tight
My stomach churns
I don't want him to go
But he can't stay here with me
Maybe he's right?
Maybe I'm comfortable being alone?
Being sad?
Being un
comfortable ?
I ask him what he means
Its morning
I should know by now
Not to ask questions in the morning
His eyes match the fog now
And we both reek of yesterday
His oversized sweatshirt keeps me from shaking
I still tremble
There's silence that you could cut like a knife
I take off the sweatshirt like I'm shedding my skin and head into six thirty
Sniffling
I feel blind
Afraid
I'm not sure what of?
He's not him
But he sure snaps like him
With big goofy teeth
I'm all chewed up
It's too early for this
It's always too early

'Taiga" she screamed.
Jumping up on the table; embodying a tree.
She kissed me softly.
Between her eyes, a small metal thing.
You have gone beyond the bounds.
Inked only lightly.
Pretending.
An eye and blueberries.
Drew her name in the sand.

I started a little fire
on the fire escape.
Felt it burn my tongue.
There was a creaking above me.
And white smoke below.
The creaking made me feel
guilty
lucky
and lonely.
All at once.
As it grew louder
it made me want to rip my hair out.
Maybe my heart too.
The fire has left me.
It bounced out into the street.
I saw four wheels run it over.
It made me think of when I smashed my fingers in my doorway.
Of when I used a plastic bag as an oven mitt.
I felt all of that
But this-
This was it.
That feeling you get-
When you wish he wake and hold you like he promised.

There is a ringing in my ears and the rain sings to me through broken shades.
I lie awake.
Hoping to catch a glimpse of you in the red light that comes from my record player.
But you aren't there.
You aren't anywhere.
I feel you in the shadows.
All around me.
I taste you on my lips.
When the light flickers.
So does this.

was crossing the street when behind me came lights of red and blue. I stepped back into a grass path and let it pass. I had my headphones in and the music droned out the sounds of the sirens. I followed it. Unaware. And found it in my front yard, heading towards the back. I clapped my hand over my mouth in awe and I watched a woman direct it to my sandbox. I tried to stop it, but my mouth was dry and my hair was falling out. I took a sip of water because the air was hot and my ice was melting. The street reminded me of France. And I swear, in the corner of my eye I could see the Eiffel Tower. A man with light eyes (or were they dark?) sat in front of a bookstore and all the lights were out. I thought of a poem I wrote. I waited and waited but he never came. Will he come again? It was half past eight and I was lonely. Waiting for two. Then fifteen. They five. I want to lay on your bed. A dimly lit room. I want to read you something.
“Takes me back to when I went ages without bathing or remembering who I loved. When I slept where I fell. “
Do you remember me now?
Your mother and your father.
Do you have sisters and brothers?
The man stood and sat. With a coffee in his hand. Black.
I want to whisper in his ear.
“We are strangers, but we are here”
I walk around and leave it to the fairies. To the roses and the stone path. To Mother In Law. Painted blood orange, covered in mirrors. I eat watermelon and hope I can always hear.

Whiskey and stained teeth.
I smelt cigarettes on your lips.
Tangled bodies.
Whispered nothings.
Look at the mess we've made.
You have robbed me of my sleep.
This is everything I've wanted lately,
but i'm afraid you will destroy me.

I wish you were here.
It's late and I am lonely.
Somewhere, you have a collection of images.
I wonder when you look at them, what you think of me?
I think of you each time my heart beats.

You are a decade.
If there had been one before or after, you would be my lucky number.
I would have wished upon you.
You are one tenth of a century.
Nine hundred & ninety away from a millennium.
Double a lustrum.
Double x.
Yod.
You are flawless.
Taste like wine.
Are followed by many.
You inflict a great plague.
Decimate.
"Do not covet" you say.
You are Heaven
Earth
Chaos
Void
Light
Darkness
Wind
Water
Day
and Night.
Born in January.
Or was it February?
December maybe?
Ruled by the planet Saturn.
You break even.
Break into me.
Like a piggy bank.
Dimes & many pennies.
You will not be the last.
Every end is a beginning.
On Saturday.
On my way home.
The name within my heart will say
"The heart has reasons"

Felt sweat on your back. Exuded sweat. A wave washed over me. A box opened, then shut. I smelsomething sweet turn sour. Asked you a question with teeth clenched. Then you asked me. We sat in silence. Your fingers in my hair. It didn't make a difference. I wasn't there. I fell asleep listening to you breathing in and out. You never stopped. Neither did I. We both continued to turn wheels. Went around and around again. Saw the world. Every inch. Still, you decided you didn't want me. I sighed. Then dreamed of a place we hadn't yet explored. A place without gravity;
It always brings me back at your feet. Feet that drag me through thick. The clock reads; 11:11. "Make a wish" And I do. I wish for the clock. And for you.

At twenty two I tried to die.
I looked into a silver bell.
Swallowed until I was sick.
In the bell,
A kaleidoscope of colors.
A boy with red hair.
Eyes kind.
Lips thick.
Said every time he saw me
I was sitting in a row of white,
crying.
I laid awake at night.
In a green posy bed,
soaked in blood.
Blue from head to toe.
The boy with the red hair called me true.
Told me horror stories.
Said he bled too.
Why are all the most beautiful men bruised?
When he kissed me I could taste the cat he killed.
Then he pulled my hair,
bit my neck
and eventually I forgot the cat.
Made him promise only to write love on his arms.
In the morning I left with four bags.
Two under my eyes.
He helped me carry them to the door.
I let him sleep.
And took a flight back to you.

The sound of the buzzer at three in the morning.
Deep sobbing
I wanted to fall to my knees.
Instead I called again and again until you answered me.
Sat on the bathroom floor,
howling.
I told you everything.
I could barely breathe.
Everything was fuzzy & my eyelids felt heavy.
The next day I saw the things he said to me.
I crumpled like a piece of paper.
Sank into my sheets.
A woman made me breakfast that morning.  
I wasn't okay, but I pretended to be.
There are too many to count.
All on my thigh.
My lover will see eventually.
And he will run & hide.
Why do I do these things?
One moment a man's got such a hold on me, the next I'm in another city.
Another mind entirely.
He's playing songs for me.
Kissing me in the only way I know how.
Who knew this one had a name?
"What's your favorite?" He asks me.
He's smoking cigarets & drinking whiskey.
I can feel the bit of red in his beard scratch at me.
"Say goodnight before he finds red on you." I tell myself.
"Say goodnight before he says goodbye."

Say your plane was going down.
Say you took your medicine.
Would you sleep through turbulence again?
Say you knew two months before.
That you'd be lying on the floor.
Would you wake
in heaven?

What man or woman would you call?
Would you be awake to feel the fall?

Say you were to meet a friend
For coffee
at half past ten.
Say you stood up
and then-

Say the plane you didn't catch.
Came down upon her
and crashed.
Say the things you wouldn't say to me.
To them.

All the bodies on the ground.
All the blood and screaming sounds
just like you will sound to me
four months from now.

If we stood in ash and dust.
What would we let cover us?
Would the rain keep falling?
Or would we rust?

Who could know it'd end like this?
We swerved towards the precipice.
We went through the windshield.
We went through the glass.
I swear this is the last time
I will ever ask.

Now that we are comatose.
Now that we are deja vu.
Will you give a name to me?
Can I give a name to you?

We are rubble.
We are rocks.
We won't help you.
We'll just watch.

Did I forgive you too easily?
I tried to be angry.
But you have this effect on me.
I know it sounds silly.
As I sit here; smiling.
You said you were looking at me.
I wonder now what it is you were seeing?
I tell you all the time.
Won't you do the same?
Point out the little things.
There has to be so many.
I'm afraid one day I won't be the same and you won't want me.
That my body will have changed.
I want you to tell me I'm pretty.
I don't believe it's ever been said.
You've touched me. Made me feel you wanted me. Begging. But you've never really told me. I think you're amazing. But it's always me. I've got a goofy look on my face and I'm biting down on my index finger. Wishing you would say something. Instead. You kiss me, too hard this time. Are you trying to tell me something? Just say it. Please. Just say it.

Cobbled sheets and ragged breath.
I picked and picked at the scab between my *******.

I awoke on my back
out of a nightmare
above me
the shadow of a man putting his shoes on
my body
dense
jaded
stiff
I felt trapped
paralyzed
heard the door click shut
began to cry with the force of a person vomiting on all fours

blinking back salt
I saw them
a thin pair of black rimmed glasses
to me
a beacon of hope
I rushed to stand
spilling cold water on my feet
electricity

staring through the peephole
(into the grey foggy morning)
I waited
then finally
he emerged
shivering
the moment came
went
so I slithered back to bed
for some time
I lay there
unmoving
like a fallen mannequin
but then
once again
the door smacked shut

find me at the bottom
in the disorder
i'm just stuck in this spot
forgive me if i'm ever on my knees
you are a cliffhanger ending
and i'm the one who doesn't know anything
you're making it hard for me
i'm anticipating
til I fall asleep
please don't lose hold of me
i'm not a lost cause
what you've given me is more than i can say
wish i could explain
i know i lose my heart so easily
tell me when you feel ready
sooner or later
i'll stay right here
till you're right here

A cluttered space and a quickly approaching departure brings silence.
Chords wrap around my gut.
Anger swelling in the belly of my being.
My bones squeak as I tighten my muscles and bite my lip to keep this quiet.
A train passes.
My heart beats in my neck.
My chest is tight.
I squirm a bit and try to shake this feeling out of me.
It lingers in the tips of my fingers and toes.
God knows I'm going to fall apart.
Like ruble.
I will crumble.
But that can wait until tomorrow.
Tonight, we drink and dance.
On top of hotel beds, we bounce and say we're sorry.
Goodbye is too close to fight.
I'm rusting.
Turning a ***** orange and breathing iron.
There's a light that comes in through a boarded up window.
It reminds me that there is beauty in this chaos.
It reminds me that you are beautiful even when you drive me ******* crazy.

His eyes are hazel
Witch hazel in the bathroom
He tells me stories at four in the morning
Reads my poetry
His too
Says I need a purpose
He's got tattoos
On his shoulders
On his back
He asks me to scratch
In Vietnam
They cursed him
Four broken ribs
He still wanted a fight
In Marakesh
The women wouldn't look at him
I worked in Marakesh once
By the water
Making leather
The smell of fish
Baked bread
His father worked in a bakery
In Philly he said

A rose pedaled room with double doors.
Smeared red spirits to be bleached away.
Raspberry.
Melancholy.
Cradle me.
I will cradle you.
Until we part.
Then cradle me no more.
How devine.
How wretched.
Solus.
Yet not abandoned.
Heavy eyes. Heavy hearts.
This brush of your finger on my lips now
will wreak havoc on my soul
when you are abroad.
What a decadent thing.
To cling to a man who consumes you.
My beloved.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
It does not matter.
As long as I am not forgotten.

And this is the way you survive losing a father.
4am. Icy air. Whispering trees.
And this is the way you drive to an abandoned place.
Eyes swollen shut. Blank Faces. Sleepless nights.
And this is the way you stop listening to all the beeping, the screaming.
To walk into a room without falling to your knees.
To hold a hand of an absent creature.
And this is the way to follow a heart pound.
As if it weren’t the only sign he was still there.
To leave for just a moment.
To cry as you listen to the sounds of someone die.
And this is the way to come back, to a sheet, a face, a slowing beat.

Six Cigarettes
My Stomach Churning
Sipping
For The First Time
In A Long Time
Watching
Yellow So Bright
And Mellow
A Strike
To Match
In The Night
This Is Where I Release
Where I Am Relieved
I Open Myself Completely
Only Laughter Exudes
I Didn't Mean It
You Lay Horizontally
Pull
Flip
It Aches
I Twitch
Strumming
Come And Kiss Me
Sometimes Life Is Romantic
But Not Always
Sometimes Life Is The Disease
Come And Lay With Me
I'd Rather Not Be Lonely
You Know Me Already
In My Marrow
It Stops
I Won't Call Myself By Name
I've Told You almost Everything
You Tell Me
Nineteen
Quite The Impression
We Both Escape
The Room Is Foggy
Sometimes We Are Restored
Come To Me

Tie him to a rock & throw him into the spaces you could be.
Between a mass of green.
Down a stairway of boulders.
Over an edge.
Into the soft hum of a city
that hides behind taiga.
Throw away the words she would say
"Do not wait"
She likes to tug at you.
Tries to rip out the way you look at him when he's turned his cheek.
She wants the memories wiped.
Break lights. Stop lights.
The way he touched you then.
Now you have dirt on your knees.
And he will be too tired to touch you again.
Throw away the possibility.
That they might be right.
Tell yourself
"There is hope"
Even in the grey he likes.
Breathe in the elevation air.
Let go of the need to be.
Exist only in this moment.
Side to side.
Where the branches make a deep scratching sound.
And so do his jeans.
Exist in the in between.
In the uncomfortability.
Only then will you see.

Kiss me until you taste laughter.
I'm not sure I laugh anymore.
I breathe in deeply, and hope that you can't feel me; shaking.
It's been ages since we've showered
I wiped my makeup and all my insecurities away with a warm washcloth.
That night, you barely touched me.
When I hear words, I piece them together and your face appears in front of me.
When you hear me read, you sit in silence.
I'm hoping that you can taste the sweat I wrung out into this page.
That you see my face wrinkle, and my hands covering.
I've been thinking.
Soon. You'll watch the tide go out with me. I'm hoping then & there; you'll say "be mine"

It wasn't the first time, nor the last. But as you laid against him, feeling tiny puffs of haggard breath against your eyelashes. You thought of this:
"You are always worth the wait"
Any other man would have just stared. Like a poster that reads 'MISSING' on a small town bulletin board. Jaw dropped and eyes wide. But he just smiled, and you  smiled back and then he kissed you.
Not for the first time, and not for the last.

Why is this so much easier now? Why does this feel so much better now? Because it's so new and new is so good?

No expectations: NEW!
No Strings Attached: NEW!
No *******: NEW!

This time, you weren't holding back. You weren't holding out. Hoping or harboring. Waiting or putting in. You were brand NEW! A NEW woman!! And in that moment, where you laid next to him. His back to yours, his hand rested on his neck, between his shoulder and his ear. In that moment: he was new to you too. A stranger. But someone you could see knowing you intuitively. In every haggard breath.
"Don't think past those haggard breaths." You reminded yourself. "Like the way they sound, the way they feel, but remember, haggard breaths will turn to deep, calm, relaxed breaths."
Breaths that say:
"Your body was busy... and now...you...are....tired"
As if it's a surprise.
But it was so onset.
I guess NEW was the surprise.
And it didn't suit him.
For some men, it's easy to flip the switch. But that man would be far too familiar, far too old. recycled.
You scoff at the words;
"would" "could" "should"
"We might as well just say what we really mean."

You ******* failed me.
I'm ******* disappointed.
I'm ******* sad.

And then you thought back to today's trip to the local Grocery Store.
You thought of white suburban mothers in yoga pants, walking down rows and rows of frozen dinners.

And you thought about what YOU wanted.

A NEW man who will stare at you blankly while he ***** you? Almost catatonic?  
Or someone recycled? Someone who looks in you, instead of at you. Someone who falls asleep afterwards? Someone who can flip that switch?

It's worth it. It's worth having someone capable of really seeing you. Into your bones & your blood. Someone who really gets you.

Whatever that means.

It's worth the wait. The lack of sleep.
You may be ******* miserable at times. You may never know where you're going or where you've been or where you are or who you are to him. But at least you'll die knowing someone saw all of you.

This doesn't mean he loved all of you. Or even that he loved you at all. But for that recycled man, you shed every skin. You open yourself wide. You let him climb inside.
Your heart isn't uncharted.
It's just unmapped.

You don't know what he wants. And sometimes it makes your blood boil. But it comes to a cool when you're reminded that RIGHT NOW, he wants YOU. And the feeling, is mutual.

But who knows what tomorrow holds? Or what happens twenty seconds from now? There's always the possibility that he'll change his mind. Theres aways the possibility you'll change yours. There's always the possibility that it will destroy you. But you are addicted to possibly.
So no *******.
Now, "No *******" doesn't mean you get to pour your own insecurities into others. It doesn't mean smacking the word "honesty" over your opinions.
"I'm just trying to be honest with you-"
"I wish someone was this honest with me when I was your age-"
None of that condescending *******.
It means you're real. More than just skin and bones. You're a pounding heart & a thumping brain.
Yes. There's always that possibility that you'll be waiting forever. Sprawled out for your recycled man and everyone else to see.
But wouldn't you rather lay in bed awake next to the recycled man (even if it's for just one night) exposed?
Than to NEW man for the rest of your life? The NEW & exciting? The NEW and frightening? The NEW man who never really understood you. Who you could never really talk to. That never really loved you.

-----------------------------------------------------------­­---------------------------------------


He picked me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminded me of crinkled paper. Or mashed potatoes. I stepped inside with this pie eating grin on my face.
"Good morning" he said, smiling back.
It was afternoon, almost evening now. I closed the door behind me and he started down the street. We hadn't picked a place for dinner yet, so we drove aimlessly around in circles for a bit.
"What happened to your car?" I asked.
His smile was quickly wiped away. I could tell it was a sensitive subject. Which meant it was his fault.
"Ran a red light" he responded, in a mumble.
I bit my lip and looked out the window for a long while. He clicked on the radio. Drum and bass blaring, I could feel the vibrations shake my feet. We pulled into a parking spot in a part of town I wasn't quite familiar with, and stepped out. Locking the doors, he made his way around the car, paid the meter and headed down the street, motioning at me to follow.


--------------------------------------------------------------­­------------------------------------


What else was I to do? I was two steps away from fully falling in love with this man. I did what any sensible woman would do: I ran for the hills. I wasn't going to be "that girl". The girl who got her heart broken, again and again and again. I had been down that road (many times) and all it did was make me look weak. I refused. I refused to be the weak one. I refused to be the one on her knees, begging, pleading. Pathetic.
I packed up my things. They fit in a small paper sack. Tooth brush, comb, respect. I wouldn't let him keep any of it. It was my turn to be strong. My turn to leave. I knew he wasn't broken hearted, and he wasn't going to be. But that would have been something, wouldn't it? To be the heartbreaker, just this once? That would have been a sight to see. A thing to feel.
I rehearsed what I was going to say. Said it aloud. In the shower. While making breakfast. Over and over. But when it came time, I put it in a text message like the heartless, cowardly ***** I was. He deserved better. We both did.

The dress I bought to wear today was covered in daisies when I put it on this morning. Now the daisies have all withered away. Shriveled up into black seams. In the car, I curled my hair and placed pressed powder upon my face. Later I added wings to the corners of my eyes, and when I cried;  the spots that were left behind reminded me of birds hanging from a tree. Little ropes wrapped around their necks.
For a long while, I sat next to a roasting fire. My feet against grey brick. An anger in my gut swelling. I stared into a flame as it crackled and hissed at me. Took tiny sips of whiskey and swore to never speak your name again. They passed the bottle around, and when it reached me I looked at it wildly and took a swig. Counted bubbles; one, two, three.
They asked me. On repeat like a broken record. "Is he coming?" I didn't know what to say. Goosebumps covered my entire body. I felt silly. Oh so silly.

Wrapped around the room is felted flowers that turn to white stars.
When the sun is in hiding, little mushrooms bring light.
It smells of fake flowers and another mother.
A small broom for a small room.
I'm sorry I missed you.
I was spending.
Sobbing softly into my high collared coat.
Watching the body
In its stillness.

You breathe in.
And I breathe you in.
One last time.
I still haven't let you out.
I taste you in the pavement.
See you
In the rain.
In the passenger seat.
I hear you in every word.
Every syllable and sound.
My stomach coils.
Is that you too?
Wrapping around me?
You slither up to my heart
And squeeze
But not tight enough to ****.
I beg for mercy.
Pray to a god in whom I never believed
You have already let me go
So why am I still not free?
When will you return to me?
After you have crossed seas?
After i have licked the plate clean?
What I would give.
My friend.
What I wouldn't?
The bottle isn't yet empty.
Anything that will keep me from calling you.
From crashing this car.
With foggy vision from tears so salty they could fill lake city.
Tell me old friend.
If you never return.
Will you die inside me eventually?
It seems now
That if you do
I will too.

I thought I was prepared.
But who could have known?
You did this to yourself.
You put me on a shelf.
And sowed me.
A dress.
Showed me
who you really are.

In the dark.

When your fears come true
it is who is near to you
that you let out into.

You don't want to be
the man in front of me.

I don’t want to be
just another dolly.
Drinking tea.
With button eyes that do not see
what you are doing to me.

When you're angry
will you break me?

I am fragile.
Even at arms length.
I am porcelain.

I can see you.
In a one way mirror.
You're looking at you.
I'm looking a you.
You don't know I'm looking.
I press my hand up against the glass.
I can feel you.
I can feel your elbow against my jaw.
I can hear you.
I can hear myself.
I hear the sound of my teeth chatter together.
I can taste you, you remain on my lips.
I taste metallic.
Was there something I said?
Something I did?
Even before four in the morning mistakes?
Before you told me you ached?
You said: "for a moment, i forgot the pain."
I should have said: "mine never went away. "
I wish you wouldn't have left so suddenly.
I wish we had a little more time.
I wish you were here now.
Are you angry?
I can't see you now.
Now I'm the one hidden behind a glass pain, disguised as a mirror.
I can't stop staring.
Who is this woman?
Make her go away.

I felt the scratch of your unshaved face against my palm and my hand moved up along your cheek.
Your bones were resistant.
I twisted my fingers.
In the space just above your ears: a thick mass of russet brown that continued around.
I clapped my hand over my mouth and listened to the sounds of you sob.
(No wait, that was me)
I hoped that you wouldn't be sick.
We were in the pitch-black.
This time I pushed memories of a grey cubicle into my mind.
Of the summer time.
The heat only bothered me when we were apart.
La Douleur Exquise.
I don't think there is anything else to say.
We will have to wait six more months.

I left the floor empty today. In hopes that you would come in with a mop and see my body hanging.
Instead - you decided you'd give up on housecleaning.
You were so good.
Everything was always left so spotless & shiny.
I dangled until finally I realized you had forgotten. I untied the knot around my neck and screamed at the sky.
But no one heard me.
My foot tapped.
I left early. So that I could go home to a messy room. I didn't want to do it myself. What if I paid you in pictures? Photographs covering everything.  There was a deck of cards on the table. You never picked them up, not really. Aren't you supposed to be cleaning?
You see? This is what happens when you give up your dreams. I know this was never your dream. But it was mine.

The morning will have to pry you from me.
I'm not ready for this.
Let me feel you breathe,
for just one more minute.
Before you go away,
tie a string around my ring finger
so that everyone can see:
That I'll be the one holding onto your heart,
making sure it still beats.

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."

I sent you the moon
And you didn't respond.
I think you were too drunk to.
I wonder what else you forgot?
If you had hands for another?
I would forgive you.
But please
Don't tell me the truth.
I can't imagine her.
In a hotel room.
It makes me sick too.
Maybe if I lay my head down?
Maybe if I listen to some tunes?
I trust you.
So why am I making up memories?
All I can think about is
the moon.
And why didn't you-
Please
Don't tell me the truth.

I touch the burn on my leg
And I can feel you staring at my cheek
Yellow sheets
Shadow of my leg
My eyes are droopy
The bed frame reminds me of fencing
A hole in the wall
You talk about her & going away
Why am i standing?
This woman is selfish and it drives me crazy
Go home to your baby
Where is he?
There's bass
And i'm lonely
Wont someone kiss me?
Better yet - give me a reason not to jump four stories?
I want to cry
But I am so dry
and tired
My feet are tingling
And i'm thinking too much about everything
And no one is thinking of me
I nod and tell you I'm okay
But honestly
A word i know i say too much
A word thats lost its meaning
Like sorry
And i love you
But honestly
Im not okay
I don't know what to say
I don't belong here
Take me with you
Away from these faces
And away from this monster that i want to keep in me
I just wanted something to pick me up
But as always
I m drowning
I stay

The sea separates our skin.
We feel closer to moon
then begin to bleed again.
Pulling ourselves in two.

Hearts and minds,
I promise you
I won't resist
or turn away in time.

You remind me of a place I knew
With no street lights
interstates
or signs.

Who knows where we are going?
Who knows what we will find?

Take a deep breath in.
Try not to drown yourself.

I hate to see you scream.
Your pain turns to suffering so quickly.

I am trying to help you here.
But you see me as ghost.
A darkened figure in the night.
Who holds you like a rope.

You live in constant fear.
Claim what’s beneath your bones.
Aim for his heart with a sharp arrow.

All we have in the end is our spines
and sternums.
The rest we leave to an exhausted sun.

What moves your body,
may not move mine.

I found myself comfortably slipping back into the skin I used to wear. When I loved a man fiercely and from afar. It was so easily, and fitting. But something was different? Perhaps it's as if I knew now, as I never did before, that this was just a gown. And that there were plenty of other gowns I could be wearing. Some of satin and lace. Some of cotton or wool. Suddenly, I realized how scratchy this skin felt. Had it always been so rough? I slipped out of the skin-and hung it up in my wall like a velvet black dress. 'Does that even fit you?' The words rang in my head. They were jarring and accusatory. I crawled into something warmer. Something new. It smelt of magic soap, the kind that came in a bottle covered in scriptures. 'This is better' I thought, with an unfamiliar grin on my face. I thought it to be odd. Even more odd that it felt genuine. 'This is much better'

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.

I can't sleep.
Paranoia creeps into my bones.
I can feel my body coil.
It hasn't even been 24 hours and look at me.
I'm pacing back and forth.
Imagining.
Worst case.
I lose you forever.
Worst case.
You hate me.
What a catastrophe that would be.
Earth shattering.
Best case.
You're busy.
The more likely scenario.
Why am I going so crazy?
Please say you'll forgive me.
Come back. I'm lonely.