Days of you saying "I'll go there for you"
and we waited so long
they won't be waiting for us

These days girls have started calling me
their best friend
While I sit here alone
It feels just as it was before

Annika

What has become of us
How have you made it so far away and
why are we alone

Ex-lover, premature,
daydreams of whispering in her ear
Dreams of her again being mine
(but I know I'm only) longing for an old companion

Even if it'll always be you
Afton Magenta
Even if it is only you

i am near the water
barely breathing
feeling like i'm
gonna lose myself in there

i am underneath
the concrete
completely unaware

the motors scream ahead
and she is holding
someone's hand

and the pulses
die beneath her
she is there
watching the end

a deer, alone
youre a lot like me

this is the only way i can be

under the moon,
nothing to show for myself
looking in the grass for something,
stalked and unsuspecting

there are days when i'm afraid of dying but not afraid of death
there are days when i'm afraid of death but not afraid of dying
never both never neither

this is how i'll be forever

maybe it's the world
maybe it's the human condition
the man and the animal
throttle each other's throats
even when they are one

the scattered wanderer
whipped from my brain and
conjured from deprivation
paces 50 feet behind
but today is getting closer

he allows himself to rest,
forgetting his uncertainties
and just lets go
no mas puede llevar las cosas
que tiene que llevar
para vivir otro dia
to face the life of Everyman
challenged of his lusts
forsaken of companionship
oh hijo mio que vivía valiente
taking his first step into the void
duerme pa siempre
querido del mundo
and one of all man

i want to see the world
the way you do, my dear
i want to see the stars
and wonder endlessly
and not yearn quite so much
to die

i want to cry when i look
at the texture of a brick
because it looks so real
and supports my weight

i want to look for beauty
and not feel despair
at every sign of goodness

i want to yearn and long
without this terrible guilt

i want to love and fear this life

and experience everything for the first time

again

low to the ground
i can't see it all
but i can see what matters

your soul is screaming through me

on quiet days

I’m feeling very human, suddenly
A new revelation, I’ve been waiting for it
I feel connected to grass and
Connected to my hands
And I can feel my love even though
I am unloved
It still overflows, in spite of it
I am so alone
I feel so connected
Like I could be part of the wind
Blowing through
Feeling everything
Without touching a thing

I'm on a list of things that look dead
at a distance
think of an existence
like an oil painting peeled

do stars cry when they meet their deaths?
do they panic
in disorder, claw and
resist, tear, scratch do they
see it coming, the same way
we do? do they simply
accept their fate? is it
the work of gravity
or perhaps is it the
work of friction,  their way
of fighting back, the great
language of physics which
dances itself to sleep?
have they born this language,
and are we merely a
reflection of cosmic
despair in one pulsing
womb? a heartbeat which howls
into the dark free fall
of nothing forever
I look to these earthly
bodies which anguish and
suffer at every end
and I wonder if we
truly were meant for this
If such pain is fated
in the realms of physics
celestial bodies
representing ourselves
at every level of
calamity. do we
sleep all through the orbit,
do we love with every
breath?
when our bodies form
the stars, do we cry upon
our death?

I found a song that you would like. I still have conversations with you in my head- things I've done recently that are cool, minor accomplishments, my first meeting as a dramaturg, projects I'm working on... Your absence is heavy, especially in these moments.


Pulmonary Embolism.
You look pretty close to a suicide.
I am so envious of the long death,
the kind that inches you away with each breath.


Sudden death is so strange. Especially when you were raised with death on your mind at all times. You live each day with the full understanding that it may be your last, it may be your brother's last, your sister's, your mother's,  father's. I've spent my whole life dedicated to understanding and accepting death. And I had, in fact, understood and accepted death.
And yet, when the cord snaps, when the body collapses right in front of you, struggling, trying to recover like it's any other day, and it turns out that it really is any other day, because death is always possible, and that's how death strikes- something changes inside of you, something that wants to turn your reasons and morbid obsessions into disbelief and anger. You wish you didn't understand it. You wish that understanding it would at least help you figure out how to deal.
Nothing is earned, nothing is gained. No new insight. No added perspective.
That's why they call it a loss. You only lose, and lose and lose, until you end up wondering what you even have left, and what parts of you are still there, underneath the rubble.

I want to be able to keep your belongings, but I'm unable to, because I don't have a place to put them, because the only place I had to put them was your home, which is no longer your home, which is no longer mine.

So we surrender your poetry
and reduce you to debt.

A letter to the president
We’re begging you
To see us in the attic on our knees
Thrifted stationary on the floor and
The scribing of our pleas
Hear us when we speak, we are young
And all too aware of our dreams
Our lives in front of microscopes
Analyzing our hopes
Dear god, let us breath
There’s no crime in our dreams
Now they’re far across the world and I write all the same
I remember hope when I remember your name
Dear president,
The ocean’s long gone
And the reefs have all fled
And the humans learn to starve and
Home has gone to ****
With nothing left for the children
Whose lungs are black from the air they dreamed of protecting
You’ve exterminated devotion
To the selfless cause
O President
Did you feel betrayed
When you learned for the first time
What this world was truly like
Do you seek revenge for your hurt
Do you seek control
And, in spite of the trauma,
Can you remember
Your love for this world.

my mother saved a dead bird
and dressed it in violets
she emptied a box
once filled with letters
her brother sent from his cell
to carry the bird down
from my bedroom
where the cat had placed it
a gift to his mother
leaving the feathers
while the bird rots in our yard