Carry on soldiers, and we'll pretend we don't notice you; the hollow shell/carcass of a wasp rotten black inside the window. Forgotten.

I'm sick to my stomach thinking of the rotten disappointment I'll become.

I feel the ties that bind us tighten, and bound our hands together as we crash into each other, and my love is the anchor that held this ship, and now pulls it down, churning, groaning, and bending in the middle. My hands on you go from desired to expected to pushed away, like a child treats their steamed vegetables.

I empty out, becoming the shell of what is a full man.
I empty out, becoming the shell of what was a full man.

Either that or I don't think much, anymore.

“Wanna break into Case?”, she smiles as she says it, “I’ve done it before.”

I doubt nothing that comes from her, and I shake like a leaf on a tree climbing up the children’s rock wall because she doesn’t know I’m afraid of heights yet.

We sneak into church and listen to their choir off key and someone walks in right as I’m about to ****** Christ’s abs right on the cross.
We’re young and we’re loud and we’re unstoppable and we’re fearless, unless our strangers are louder than us.

A heavy fog is rolling in.

We wake up early and soaked in affection. You leave and come back with coffee. We are desperate to stay here, in this bed, in this moment. The rain outside, our warm bodies next to each other, kissing and laughing at Reddit memes.

I’m not a crook, but I stole you and I’d do it again, and I’d do it every chance I could or had to. Closer to home here then where I struggle to pay rent.

Approaching nuclear winter, and I can't wait for apocalypse wine soaked Bukowski to crawl out his grave and slug it out with the man in black.
I hope they buried Bukowski in that ill fitting t shirt with his beer gut trying to escape from the bottom, and we should feel ***** for making ******* legends.

We don't.

I'm collecting bottles of alcohol on my window sill;

1 Bottle of Vanilla Smirnoff to cap off poorly cooked rice dishes and sleep dizzy at night. I killed it with a screwdriver some time after New Year's Eve, I guess.

1 Bottle of Kamora, to make a white russian, but we put most of it in egg nog and then watched Neil Breen speak out loud what he should have kept to himself, and we ****** on my couch to see if my room mate would walk in on us, and we fell asleep like that and woke up with sore necks. I stuck that flower you stole inside the bottle, and now it's plastic neck wilts a little more in the sunlight and radiator every day.

1 Bottle of Espolon, but it was filled with more *****. She brought it last time we saw each other and we watched some anime and I made everybody smell the ***** that smelled like pure sugar. I don't know what you see in me, but I hope you stop.

1 Bottle of Copa De Oro to round out more nights with the only drink I can fix well, walking through feet of snow to sleep early and wake up late. I'd play with your hair and skin and watch you fall asleep and wake up at all times of the night, and I'd wake up just to do it again, because this is my dream.

A single can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, stolen from my room mate. I thought I was clever without trying too hard, I keep washing all her dishes and she repays me with a messy living room and a sink full of dishes. Living like this is **** and we get along just fine.

I hope someone gets that ******* Alex Jones with a bat to the side of the head, and buries him in a rose garden, as long as we're still fighting fascists and not trying to hold hands and sing "Kumbaya".
I think, I hope, we're all tired of holding our breath.

I'm too poor for the alcohol + it's too late. Getting drunk to fill the empty feeling seems like a pipe dream. You came and I felt lonelier with you here. I still feel lonelier with you gone. I'm filling my window sill with bottles, to see how much damage I cause alone.
1 - Copa De Oro
1 - Kamora
1 - Smirnoff
1 - Espolon
1 - Can of Pabst Blue Ribbon

I'm not selfish, but still heartbroken and wishing you were mine.
I have to rationalize this in the future too.

I have to remember that a mistake is not an accident; it is calculated and weighted. I can't let them convince me a choice is a slip of the tongue. Might steal my room mate's beer, might buy my own, and who the **** knows?

All this skin to save my heart, and I'm still made of glass.
Trying to get some type of high like everyone else.
Trying to waste health like everyone.
Wasting youth.

I sank my heart just to be with you.

You put towels under the door to hide the stench of cigarettes.
Put your hands on your head and your head in your lap.
You bled from your thighs and I kissed the back of your neck.
You cried in the bathtub while I tried to stop the bleeding.

I wish it wasn't you.
I wish I never saw you open  up your arms in front of me.
I wish I never even met you, or learned your name just so I could forget it.

I sank my heart.

You are not as helpless to love as you think.

You watch him so closely, the alcohol on his breath can be smelled through his 2am text messages. You admire him anyways.

You are not as helpless to love as you feel.

You left me after weeks of not even trying. You made me feel disgusting. I get over it reminding myself that the *** was awful. You told me you failed me, and I believe you.

You are not as helpless to love as you want to be.

You will lose everyone if you keep choosing to be stapled to someone who feels no remorse over telling others to **** themselves. Stop acting like history is a precedent for dragging that sack of **** around. A lot of girls cut themselves, you just met one who deserves to.

You are not as helpless to love as it seems.

I can't believe my parents got along for long enough to have two kids. My father started texting her to say happy birthday, happy holidays, etc. "He must be lonely", I tell her, knowing fully well he's pushed everyone out of his life. He's insufferable to even his insufferable friends [which he now lacks].
I aspire that those who love me may recognize their lust and admiration, but leave me in a heartbeat for my shortcomings. I would pray that nobody lets me hurt them if they have the chance. I fear myself for them. It's only a little ****** up.

When you leave and you don't appear again? I've normalized the behavior. I imagine that death's ferry travels through this room and takes the lust from you. You leave with nothing but the mediocrity of reality. At least you leave.

I feel your shame in me as a dance;
navigating with words to meander past tables hosting hungry bodies, silently. Your vocabulary crops me out of pictures. Your language erases me from the past as it is happening. You speak through me as I stand in front of you.

"Are you ashamed of me?", I'd ask, weeks later when
we haven't talked still.
We haven't talked more.
We haven't talked anymore.

[I'm in a bad way thinking about
pretty girls
&
red lips that say "good bye",
if they say anything at all.]

So some nights we lay on our sides,
and other nights we lay on our backs,
and all the other nights we sleep anxiously.
****.
No, I sleep anxiously