I swallowed the photographs like vitamins,
washed them down with rusty tap water,
I’ll tie bows on the parts we gave thanks for,
One day the roar of the atlantic will pull me under,
Make fishbowls of my lungs and fill them past the brim,
Leave this body for the fishes so their bellies stay full

Still-birth emotions laying on the snow.
If I let you smile, will sticky lips let go?
After-birth sensations, beaten under hail.
I want to **** the blood out of your gums.
I want to touch you until your body's stale.

Venus in the snow -- the more I taste you,
the more the echoes in our mouths slow.
Shake it, baby -- **** me like I just got out of a coma.
Nothing more that I want than to be your trauma.

And I just have to bury myself in your emotions.
And to drown in the swell of separate oceans.

And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.

Its about time we dig ourself a lil deeper in the hole we call our home.

I see how white light startles.
I snapped a pic and she spun in circles.
She wanted a photograph
to cover her mother's epitaph,
so she could have a laugh.

She smoked to get away -
but this isn't what'd she say,
exhaling, "All we are is carbon
and a lack of empathy."

We blended into hues of
microwave dinners
and church alters.
I used to tell her to go
just to halt her.

We prayed to get away -
but that's not what we'd say,
whispering, "Help us be more
than carbon and a lack of empathy."