smiling in my pictures
but I'm vomiting glitter
and killing butterflies;
not fatally, just enough to bandage.
self-destruction is not exclusive;
physically, maybe, but skipping meals
and writing on your wrists
will make your mother cry a hundred tears
for every picture of you with bloodshot eyes.
I'm okay, mom, please don't worry,
but knowing how much cheap perfume it takes to cover the smell of cigarettes is not something I wish I knew.

I want to delete every ******* poem I wrote about you, but I can't bear to delete them, I'll just lose the memory of what it felt like to be in love.

and we asked you for help
and you laughed at the candor
and we dropped dead like flies.

****** t-shirts falling from
clothing lines as clothing pins
litter the floor of the morgue

and parents pick out caskets
ten sizes too small, for dead
babies and children of the

night, the ones who had been hanging
from street lights and shooting stars,
who asked for help in the form

of loud music, slow dancing,
painting in dark colors, tying
red balloons to doorknobs,

and leaving home without layers.
these children, they’re wearing t-shirts
in late december and you’re

wondering why they’re shivering.
in the mean time, you turn your cheek
and lift the zipper of your fur coats.

some connections can't be adequately explained
freezing wind and gilded ceilings, mousy brown roots
on bubblegum hair
keeping a scarf in place is too hard, and staying inside is too easy
(the bottom has cobblestones)
why is there is only such thing as effortless
when the air is cold enough to burn?
(the best veins are beneath the lids of my eyes)
if footsteps don't echo there's neither point nor interest
menthol, sorbitol, glycerin, xanthan
I exhale mint when I breathe in the world.

I'm tired of forcing you out of my every thought.
Convincing myself I don't want you isn't working and I'm sure it hasn't worked for anyone.
You can't just flip a switch and forget about someone.
What if this person was exciting?
Made you feel desired?
Made you want to get up in the morning?
Why would you want to give that up?
--
The truth is, the possibility of us is all that it's ever going to be.
A possibility
A what if.
A maybe.

And even though it hurts, I don't want to fight my thoughts anymore.
I'll think of you until I'm ready to let the idea of you go.
That's all you are anyway.
A stupid idea.

What I'm feeling right now?
I hope I never forget what it feels like,
or better yet,
I hope I don't ever have to feel anything else.

For if I forget what it feels like,
I don't think I can ever love again,
and be
human.