i’m sorry your love does not fit into my junk mail
and that i will not become a hoarder for you
you say you’re disgusting
but i think you’ve rubbed yourself raw against my skin
until your bones have become protruding branches from your body
the blood that used to circulate through me
has now turned into sand
you punctured my lungs and i started leaking beaches
there are no sandcastles, just chunks of broken seaglass
just pebbles and bugs and dirt
you can’t shield me from the sun, i’ve already been burnt
so now when people step on me
i burn back

*(a.m.c.)

the windows in my room have gone black and there are toxins in my throat
a brick wall replaced my heart in my chest, and even that is cracking
the neurons in my brain are all screaming at me, “you ****** up, you ****** everything up. you have destroyed yourself and everyone else with your tsunami and natural disaster.”
the ocean raging in my bones has been high tide since you came
and i’m drowning in my own sense of power

*(a.m.c.)

i swallowed the sunset like a pill;
and drowned it with a bottle of nyquil;
so my dreams involve stars instead of your hands;
and my brain contains gradients in place of your arms.
i clawed my own eyeballs out, mistaking them for yours;
and what i thought was your skeleton i rammed with my car;
was actually just a mailbox.
i’ve screamed at the top of my lungs;
but you are still jammed in my throat.
i’ve opened up my skin;
but your poison is stuck to me like a sunburn.

*(a.m.c.)

i sold your love to a man in a white coat;
and i used the money to buy red lipstick, Kate Moss No. 113;
so now when i wear it i can remember the time I ripped out your heart and ate it whole;
because my man eating zombie heart cannot contain you;
and my man eating zombie mind cannot contain you;
i was tired of being a fugitive in your arms;
the closest we will ever be is 50 ft because of the restraining order i put on you last thursday afternoon;
50 ft is the distance of the stars to the moon;
50 ft is not far enough;
i was tired of feeling your love wrapped around my neck;
my lips turned blue from your suffocation;
you’re not going to die because i am no longer able to staple my hands to yours;
and you’re not going to die because your ears won’t hear my voice anymore;
because life is more than your false identification with love;
life is about breathing;
and you’re still breathing.

*(a.m.c.)