Bubbles popped atop
a ****** tongue;
Digging into my lungs
               like sour milk.
Nails of whiskey scents            
grappled at a hickey-d neck,
pulling harder at swollen pipes.
With every swig
she laughed,
I cried.
So long I existed
there wasn't much difference
between death, and life.

It’s 1987.
She’s smiling at the waves cascading,
         looking at a world
                       that didn’t exist.
             In the emollient, rosemary morn’s glow
             pregnant with prickly pear scents,
         a cherry-pickled dress crashed into the foam
                     and up bobbed a nest of blonde.
        Kissed by the wind, and nourished by the sea,
                     I watched my sweetheart flee.

you needed me, and I was there                                
                        cause a friend cannot help but only care.                            
                        now I shiver, and shake, and cut                                              
                                 cause the daymares are multiplying –                      
                   but I can’t type a sentence anymore,                              
                                 at least not to you.                    
          I’m too afraid of what you’ll say                      
                                         or think or judge
                                                     but anyway,                                                
         ­                              it’s not worth the hassle – me.                        
                          live your life, let me be.

It happens in flashes,
like the hot pangs of sweat
when I wake up in my bed
doused in buckets of ice.

Like when the air hits your face
riding the highway.

My breath is lost in heaves,
I can't think - I can't think -
of anything except the littlest
and the morning cold
inching up the gaps of her pajamas.

Until the memory of his eyes assaulting
the places I'd not have them
stare at
claws at me.

I can't take it anymore.

I'm sitting at the bottom of the pool.
       The chlorine stings;
the mesh of blue tastes like skin.
Like the privates of some bodies
daring to seep into the flakes.

            It's so peaceful here.
The allegro of my heart- thump. thump. thump.
(thump-thump-thump-thump)
blocks out the voices
       rippling above.  
Children cackling,
a mother moaning,
    a lifeguard crying.    
          
     I open my mouth
                                    to let the roofied indigo flush my body
like codeine on my droughted tongue,                          
so we have no secrets.
So I am not the only one to see the ugly.            
                                    Water slides off my *******, thighs,
and all the parts of me the mirror doesn't see,
until everything around me is water
             taking away the hotness from my cheeks;
I almost travel time -
palming my wrinkled fingers and toes -
which crumble like chrysanthemums.

The view wavers
and I quint to the dissociating shiny, yellow arms,
giggling when they tickle my voided pits.

I feel like sleeping,
but I think I need a breath?
A little sputter - a small gasp.

Better come up before I drown.