the purple-yellow bruising on my heart
refuses to heal.

behind every unlocked door I find
a brick wall.

Your airport refused to check my baggage.

So here I am
stranded in an empty terminal
clutching a dead phone

waiting

to speak to a manager that went home ages ago.

“I don’t want to think,
don’t make me care
-im running late.”

Emotional sadist
Your closet runneth over.

“Drug me”
I whisper
half lyric
half request
as you silence me with your
“Acid Tongue”

you are

an arbitration
to this restless void

the long ebb
interrupted by your flow

what you aren’t

is a savior

what you aren’t

is an answer

you are

a “Lost Cause”

Were living in the half light
Falling for the dead
Yearning for The Swoon

Our affair became
my Swan Song

lets not pray to the crescent
lets keep waiting
waning and wandering
stumbling through cycles
til the final bow
sowing seeds of a future
in our drought.

come get yours
while i;m drowning in this fixture
take your time in the half-life

the pills that pose a purpose

postulate your position
poison to this far too precious heart-

the view from the high you give me is
       dizzying.
i want to zip line down to the depths of you
find a home among the wild things.

the wild thoughts that rock you awake
"do you still like me"
"please don't answer"
               rushing out in the same breath.

you're an arbitration for this listless monotony
            of being.
the long ebb,
interrupted by your flow.

you're a sinkhole i gladly dive into,
                headfirst.

“I love you cupcake,
sugar cookie,
double chocolate coffee crumble toffee almond cake.”

                                                         ­                             “I forgot my insulin
                                                         ­                               but that’s ok,

                                                            ­                           just please give me more,
                                                           ­                            we’ll figure it out later.”

“You’re my sweet living nightmare,
my small wondrous death,
my fanciful figure of false hope.”

                                          Come melt on my tongue.
                                          Send me into convulsions.


                                                  ­ Leave me here

                Choking on the chalky aftertaste of candy heart sentiments,
                Clumsy banalities dribbling out the corners of my mouth.

                                                      Mur­muring,

       “Forget the ******* insulin. Give me more. We’ll figure it out later.”