noose with a cross dangling (love, grandma)
medal with the mocking smile (you could have done better)
glasses her mother wore to read the paper (folded on a bedside table)
windchimes hanging outside her window (inhabited by spiders now)
cufflinks of the man she wanted to marry (they left lovely bruises)

she's got blades of grass from across the country stapled inside her eyelids

let's hang ourselves from the stars so everyone will know who we are

He stripped me down to my words and asked, "Does this hurt?"

she's not a flower, more like a **** or suburb-grass

i plan to repeat the same words over again until they sound something like you holding me in your arms again

//i've fallen in love with the ceiling of your car
//and i've fallen in love with the way your leather backseats stick to my shoulders