everything, ever'one and they mama
remind me of you
god******
songs you never even sang
and every western movie that doesn't
star Wayne (I kept him for myself)
people drop you in
conversation real casual like
and I still go a little cold
like someone done pour
icewater down the back of my neck
but I can't admit to how much
it still hurts to talk about you
'cause that would be some ***** ****
so I smile and let you roll off my tongue
as if there's not a single thing in the world
that tug at my heartstrings anymore but
you still do


you still do.

i'm so angry
my face feels pale
empty space no art-
ist wanted to draw in

i want something
to fill this void behind
sharp teeth: vomiting
coffee grinds and blood
over my favorite novel
in a dream where my
glasses are still
broken and there's
always been wet bed
sheets, red is nothing
is smothering

oh, i want.
need pain
love leaving i've
never craved laughter
no one here is looking at me
the eyes of hungry gods are
glued to my skin tearing them
selves apart leaving me leaving me
to cope with one less layer
i think there are devils in
the clouds that haunt me.
oh, i need.

i need a cigarette
somewhere between
home and hell

taste fog water
catch a breath
push everything
down with old
blood coffee
splash water
on my face:

who the **** is that?

evil wine speak
you look so pretty in every color
god you're so old
and i so young

empty bottle basement
child's home, fate
is tiny hands

bodies blend
to time and
silhouttes

let me lead you home

this message has
been on my lips
a train of thought
stuck to the tracks
woven between teeth
a mesh of necklace
lodged behind my ramus
a chain of words working
into my tongue
i am convinced there is
less light than I thought
that i have never smoked
a cigarette in my life but
i am blacker and deeper
than any ravaged lungs
made of  about as much water
that sees Atacama
on a good day
and I am

raging.

sometimes
i worry that depth of emotion
is a finite resource and i've
wasted all of mine on **** like
being so lonely i can't breathe.
but it's sunday,
i don't go to church,
instead, i painted my panic gold,
and wore it on my head
like a heavy crown.
no one bats an eye
when i say that i'm too embarrassed
with this life that i want to end it, but
thank you for being so lovely,
kind, and supportive.
i am not shaking.
this is shame.
this is it for
a prayer.

all i've wanted is to sleep

to tip over and land
soak in distilled whiskey
like arthropods preserved
in amber, except me
lost in an extended
trance, dissolving
into resins, ointments
oils--

i don't want to feel trapped
i fear me leaving more
than anything else,
me leaving to beat
the traffic, catch the
train, board the bus
to Abilene
a roundtrip
god I'm
tired of tryin'
so
hard.