you keep looking at me like i’m god-*******-incarnate, babydoll
******* at the rind of an orange i bought you ages ago like it’ll still give you sweetness if you just ask it nicely
here’s the part where we die, me first, telling you something sweet so you won’t feel too bad. here’s where my hand meets yours, curling around your little knuckles like i can’t die right without it.
here’s where our hearts hurt, where they ache so bad it feels like they’re burning.
it’s okay. i don’t mind. i don’t mind, baby, so long as it’s you i’m lying cold next to.
my grave might be empty, and that’s okay too,
we might die out in the bitter ******* cold, heads upturned so we see the sky.
you always loved those constellations, could list them from memory by the time you were six. only right you die seeing them one last time,
is that morbid? i don’t think so, sweetheart. you’re just dramatic, always were, always looking for a fight from me.
i used to love you the way kids do, the way you should, the way you deserved.
i used to love you something special. it’s okay, honey. it’s okay.
i don’t mind, anymore.

you call me - "baby, babe"
and it doesn't feel like it should

the bow of your back, taut
sweat sticky
opiated and fizzing,the air stirs
and does not settle
the garden caged between your ribs
cracked and sprouting,paint
fumes sputtering out of your
fingertips,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane

the bow of your mouth, sweet
spit tacky
thunderous and crowing,skin
smelling of smoke and apples
the starstuff wrapped in your fist
aching and bruised,your knuckles
purpling and swollen,wild
unruly kind of-
give and take,sway
bring me to my knees kind of
hurricane

it goes like this-
he pulls himself into himself, ribs
collapsing inward in an attempt to become smaller. smoke and mirrors and a jump from a high-rise
he never quite pulled it off, though
he says "brand new, baby
never been used"
holds my hand and tells me a lovesong that ends with:
"and the dust settled."
gripping at my fingers so the bones crack
it sounds more like a confession than a story
and he's never been able to stay still so
he doesnt,
fidgeting away and back, a restless tide
salt licking at his cheeks, and he tastes like a dream
like the ruined rotted boards of a shipwreck
and he smells like smoke all the ******* time. i wanna
romanticize him,
wanna breathe in his lungs and blow out a piece of art,
i wanna dress him up in angel wings
and ask him how close to the sun he can go without melting. split me open
wartime in monochromia, could do this for hours
if i didnt know that it would wreck me. he cant stop
******* open the holes in his jeans, says
he just wants to have control over something. says,
"this is what it feels like to be on fire"
and i believe him.

luminous and trembling, he
walks like the soles of his feet are made of moonlight, he
***** you like he's trying to tell you something, he
shakes and shudders like he sees something you don't, he
is everything all at once, fragile and overwhelming, a dive without air, he
wraps you up and doesn't let go until he burns alive, he
dissolves in your veins like surgical thread, he
****, he
god, he
could build on this for hours and still be ready to swallow you down, he
cant ******* breathe without touching you, he
lets the sun bruise his back a thousand different shades of pink and still comes back for more, he
calls you when his voice is crackling with exhaustion and sticky with hunger, he
lets you sleep inside his ribcage because that's how he keeps you warm, he
shivers in the dark and wont let you take care of him, he
tells you you're some precious pretty thing as he veers into a ditch, he
needs seventeen stitches and a transplant with a name you can't remember, he
always shatters on impact

i can still see you there,
some delirious and shining thing
a beautiful ******* with your
lips puckered, your
cupids bow winking in and out of view
sweet for me, i
feel your mouth in my hair
some kind of ghost kiss
whispering something to me,
breath soft on my brow
i can't read as well as you,
darling
i can't read a thousand things and
still have room for more, my
belly distended with the words, my
heart bleeding for it
my golden swan, did i steal you?
did i break into the giant's home and whisk you away,
little bird? i
feel the sugar on your skin
steam rising from the crooks of your limbs
smiling, a gaping gorgeous maw
head pushed back, knees scraping against
the frozen wall
so pretty i might have dreamed you, maybe
is there any version of this where
i don't end up bleeding? (probably not;
but it'll be a lovely fall down)

in the grand scheme of things, he’s the trees and I’m the river and the stones are always, always covered in blood

2. he keeps looking at me over his shoulder and I don’t know if it’s because he knows I’m lying or if he’s checking to see that I’m still alive

3. he told me I was a god, some free and ruthless and holy thing and I told him he was the sun and we’re both waiting on the test results to see who won

4. he smiles like an animal, too much teeth, gapped and bleeding, too much dirt stuck to his gums, lips sticky and eyes burning holes into me

5. I never thought I’d be afraid of the way the light hits the earth, quietly and all at once, but I am and it feels like I should be on my knees and praying to something I know doesn’t exist for me

6. in the grand scheme of things, neither of us is a bird or fragile or something precious to hold onto, and both of us know this, which makes it worse

7. he isn’t some winged holy thing

8. he hung the stars and told me how lovely I was in the lighting

9. he put a gun in his mouth until I could taste the sting of it, metal coating my insides, until I was the one bleeding iron bullets

10. he handed me his plastinated heart and told me to swallow it whole so I did

11. he said a lot of things and I mostly don’t remember them because I was too busy knitting us together at the seams of our broken bones, two skeletons in the same grave, some kind of poetic fate

12. or, that’s how I’ll say it happened

he calls you wild, dionysus
he calls you sweltering and dangerous

and you know when he says it he doesn't mean beautiful or kind,
because a boy that means beautiful or kind isn't a living boy

and you both know this to be true.
he's bored with you, and you both know this to be true.

he makes you drink the wine and then he makes you laugh
or, not in that order.

you don't remember.

starving burning moonlight screaming onto your skin
you turn to me and say,
is this okay? is this good enough?
and i say, god. god, it's perfect.
and that's all it takes: you, shining in the doorway of a broken
motel room,
and me in your shadow.

this bacchanalia-
this history, loud and drunk
and reveling
she says, and: your nails are bitten to the quick, doesn't that hurt?
doesn't that hurt?

there's a Heart of Virginia Festival magnet bleeding out onto the
countertop. it's been like this for weeks, i think. i've
been sitting here for weeks. letting the phone ring and
not picking up. a couple of old strawberries molding in
my palm. two ibuprofen waiting to be swallowed resting
pretty on my tongue, melted down to sulfur and acid.
i'm not the right kind of sick for you. bees buzzing inside my
skull, lazy and
sticky sweet. blood dripping from your face to the tiles.
gutted and fresh and stinking, and
you won't stop carving dead languages
into the meat of your thighs, muscle gaping red and raw
you sit in the bathroom of a Macy's and howl,
like youre wild,
like you're hoping someone will round the corner, fists flashing
and ******* stop you.
youre not a Real Boy, you say, spit it out quick and harsh.
thats what momma said- you'renotarealboy.
faster than before. like you're scared. (i know you are.)
my shoulders go up once, twice. what the **** is a real boy?

and he says -
you are a cathedral, arent you!
youve been lying to me!
by god,
the mercy in his eyes
(and i thought -
i could drown in this,
i could drown in him. and i think
that would be alright,
wouldnt it?
not the worst way to go?)

there are spiders in my skin, i think
and theyre happy there

I FEEL THE FURIES DESCEND -
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAVAGE A PILE OF MEAT AND MUSCLE
THE STENCH OF IT, O GOD
O GLORY SCREAMING, WHY
RAGING AGAINST SOME BROKEN
DYING THING:
PEEL THE SKIN FLAKING FROM MY BACK,
WEAR IT AS A TROPHY
FASHION MY SKULL INTO A SICKLY CROWN
YOU DESERVE THIS THRONE! YOU
REALLY REALLY DO!
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO DIE
FROM SELF HATRED
PUTRID FIRE AND MALEVOLENCE
REMINISCING LIKE OLD FRIENDS, AND
MY FINGERS LYING AT THEIR FEET
I WAS NEVER ALIVE! NOT IN THE
RIGHT WAY, AT LEAST, SING
SONGS OF MY COURAGE
SACRAMENT AND DUST SENT OUT TO SEA
ON A FLAMING BOAT
NOTHING BUT A SHATTERED URN AND A
DECK OF CARDS
AND A SUICIDE NOTE THAT SAYS SORRY,
WRONG NUMBER
THIS ISNT - THAT IS TO SAY, IM NOT -
I CANT BREATHE, NOT WHILE
EAGLES SWALLOW MY LUNGS, A FLY SWARM
TURNED HOLY SCREAMING
REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!

whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong whats wrong
oh!lots of things (she says this real quiet, not 
quite a whisper, and you wonder and think for a 
while about it
is she sad? you dont think even God knows,
or whoever made the World)
when I'm Old, I will create the world anew
sweeten flowers and trees and leafy things (or, 
or, or,
bury all the seeds,and wait a thousand years
for them to grow tall and big and Strong)
how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you how dead are you
stamp something on it! make my death 
certificate official! i'm in love i'm in love i'm in 
love i'm in love!
she screams! and she thinks that finally, God, or 
whoever made the World, can hear her!
i'm going to put stickers on everything!
(you believe her)
and will the trees grow strong again? and will 
they breathe?
the forest is on fire, but
i think it's only in your mind
your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing your teeth are missing 
your teeth are missing your teeth are missing 
i believe you this time: she says, quiet but not 
as much as before
she is painting Doors and Walls and Ceilings, all 
in gold
gold on gold on gold on gold on gold
wow! are you a work of art? can i take you 
home?
do you want to go home? or, i guess,
do you want to go to the mountains or the sea 
or the forest or a lake or even the sky, maybe?
tell me, i'll take you there i promise! wherever
you want to go
free of charge.
- where is the boat going?
and she says, gosh! anywhere we want it to!

"i know it's cliche but-"
your throat is a graveyard spitting up coffee grounds and
used tissues / toilet paper / whatever you can get your hands on
(everything you own is covered in blood.
this is normal)
vulnerability turned burial shroud / tent / house
hotels arent wastelands for you to learn to hate yourself with
("i know, i know
not everything is a burial ground, etc"*)
glittery and sick and tired
[ and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning and burning ]

1.youre too careful and too soft and your stomach
is growling. (you havent figured out if its
the emptiness you like
or feeling like youre alive, after all)
2. your teeth start to fall out in your hands;
your gums are rotted through.your blood
tastes like sweet wine
honey in in a fly trap
a cavernous echo when you feel brave enough to open
your mouth and beg.
3. there are princesses in your dreams, and theyre dripping blood
onto the carpet
(your mom bought it special for you two years ago
shes going to be furious.)
4. dissociative identity disorder is characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states
5. youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire
6. youre covered in dirt. stop screaming in public
be quiet you ******* slimeball
what a creep.
7. you wake up in the middle of the night. you are missing two of your limbs. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
8. she is delighted at your progress. you smile, and feathers are stuck between your teeth.
the dead bird in your lap says nothing.
9. you wake up in the middle of the night. you are in a coffin. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
10. she is delighted at your progress. you smile, and clean up the mess you made.
11. you wake up in the middle of the night. your arm is missing. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
the dead bird on the floor says nothing.

you look at me like i'm on fire. youve always been petulant
i was supposed to be the reasonable one,(or
at least, alive)
and you laugh and say *"i guess things dont always turn out the way they're supposed to."

a person on the metro, six stops from their destination
leafing through a brochure titled How
To Get Rich Quick -
sighing in disgust,
"I was never allowed to go on the metro
when I was young," boasts the woman
sitting beside them, an accessory of
The Scene. a prop
(voice is loud and nasally, and the person - five stops - considers moving)
quick smile, polite:
which means, go away. or, at the very least, don't talk quite
so loud
okay? okay?
a softcover Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is under the seat, discarded,
Sharpie skidding through it (four stops) at every jolt
of the train.
this is normal, all trains are jerky sometimes, and the loud woman
expresses her concerns.
an old man, older than both people,
older than anything really - coughs.
wet coughs.
the person frowns, but quietly, so
the woman and man won't notice.
(they are well-practiced in the art of subtlety)
three stops. the woman leaves
but the smell lingers
and the dictionary, having slid back
one or two rows for effect
a flock of tourists board. kids in the seats
parents hanging tiredly to safety holds
(be still be quiet keep your hands to yourself, mandy
a little boy of six clinging to the person's jacket with
sticky warm fingers)
two stops, and the boy asks why they look so sad.
what they're reading.
they have perfected the art of silence
but little boys don't understand silence.
the mother hovers in the background
sneaking ***** looks at the person,
wax smudged smile going crooked at the edges
one stop,
the boy asks where they got their hair
(my head;
he is unimpressed)
he is kicking the lonely dictionary
providing it with company,
or maybe unaware.
they leave, and the mother hisses something at them as they pass -
clutches the boy's arm.
the dictionary has been stuck on the word spectral for three days,
and the train hums to life.

i will suffer no fruits or faults
no laboring hands:
just the sun, and the sky behind it

WELCOME TO SHRAPNEL CITY, SPITTING ***** OUT LIKE BULLETS, OR PEOPLE, OR GRAINS OF SAND, OR PLANETARY SYSTEMS. I SAY “I THINK THERE'S SOMETHING ****** UP IN MY HEAD” LIKE SOME PEOPLE SAY “IT'S RAINING OUTSIDE” AND MAYBE THAT'S REALLY ****** UP BUT I CAN'T WAIT FOR SOMEONE TO ROMANTICIZE ME WHAT IF THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME BUT THAT'S OKAY, IT'S NOT VIOLENT OR NASTY OR ******, SO THAT MEANS IT'S HEALTHY, RIGHT? THAT MEANS WE'RE HEALTHY, RIGHT? EVERYONE HAS BAD DAYS, SWEETHEART I WANT TO DRAW EYES ON MY WHOLE BODY, COVER MYSELF IN SOMETHING GOOD, PEEL OFF MY SKIN AND MAKE IT INTO A SONG THAT OTHER PEOPLE CAN BLEED / CRY / SMOKE TO (THIS IS MY DREAM, I SAY, AND I THINK YOU MIGHT BELIEVE ME). I HAVE A DEATHLY FEAR OF CHOKING BUT I LIKE IT WHEN MY CATS SCRATCH ME BECAUSE IT GIVES ME AN EXCUSE TO BLEED THAT I DON'T USUALLY HAVE, AND ISN'T THAT JUST SO WEIRD? ISN'T THAT SO CUTE? DON'T LOOK AT MY LEGS, OR MY FINGERS, OR MY SCALP, DON'T ASK IF I'VE BEEN GETTING ENOUGH SLEEP. IGNORE THAT I EXIST (I DON'T). IT'S OKAY, I WON'T MIND. I WEAR SWEATERS ALL THE TIME SO NO ONE CAN SEE MY CHEST AND I SAY IT'S A GENDER THING BUT ACTUALLY IT'S MORE LIKE AN I-HAVE-SCRATCH-MARKS-AND-SCARS-ALL-OVER-MY-CHEST-AND-I-THINK-I'M-­BECOMING-LESS-OF-A-REAL-PERSON THING. IS THAT MESSED UP? IS THAT WEIRD? IS THAT CUTE? I'LL PUT IT ON A T-SHIRT, MAYBE. IT'S NOT SELF HARM, I JUST DON'T LIKE HAVING BUMPS ON MY BODY. DOES THAT MAKE IT BETTER? DO YOU FEEL LIKE A HERO YET? I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I'M GLAD I REALLY AM

“instructions on how to destroy yourself from the ground up, and vice versa”
i say i think i am a better ghost-- and she says, dont be so cliche
this isnt a fairytale, this isnt Wonderland
, but i was born shoving the barrel of a gun down my throat like it was someone else’s tongue
and after a while they start to taste the same
less like a herald and more like sour lips curling around a sentence over and over “nobody exists anymore
welcome to the Forgotten era--”
swallowing glass just so my throat wont feel so empty
when she kisses me she says shes sorry
when she says my name it sounds like a swearword, like her mouth is too brittle to sound it out right
“instructions on how to build the perfect barricade”, start with enough wood to burn yourself to the ground
start over. start over. start over.
(seventeen crumpled dollars and a neon sign that says WELCOME TO PARADIS, comical in a way that makes a nine year old on a too-small bike start crying)
We Need To Talk / cutting your bangs uneven with a pair of scissors you found in an abandoned building / LACHRYMAL: CONNECTED WITH WEEPING OR TEARS
“instructions on how to change the way your name sounds”
i bleed empty promises,call people in the middle of the night just to say that I’m Fine
(i dont even remember the last time i ****** awake coughing up consonants, trying to
rebuild myself, i swear!)
she says my name right and it’s a tuesday. there are guns on a basement wall twenty miles away
, and it’s raining outside
, and she tells me she likes the way it sounds
(she swallows it whole)

do i know you from somewhere/you look like someone i used to--/you're alive, and
who are you/sorry, i think i have the wrong number/i've been waiting for you

it is easy to know when you should worry about him:::
bombs are going off in lonely palms
and all you hear is a clock ticking in the kitchen

heartbeat creaks in, out, ladder creaking too--
can you feel it, can you hear the petty voices screaming at you,
can you. can you, can you.
crying out, this is what the water gave back to you:
you never liked her anyway, not the way she got into trouble,
regret doesn’t make someone more dead, anyway,
what’s the rush?
riverbed running dry, what’s the rush?
says, you have nothing to worry about
says, god told me about the paintings, god told me,
says, this is your fault
untucked button-up shirts falling from a fifth floor balcony,
this is what love is supposed to feel like
promising bitten pieces of paper to strangers and other misdemeanors
eating at the cardboard cutout suicide dream
some kind of oasis, or
at least a buried treasure, right?
that’s what we came here for, right?
says, don’t make assumptions,
says, don’t make this harder than it has to be,
says, don’t--
corpse in the river, blonde hair
blue eyes get seven sentences and a memorial
speaking in sentences only churches get to hear
lighting a cigarette and talking about the end of the world
isn’t this what we came here for?
says, *what a way to die

"what a *******
cliche," is that what they're calling it these days?
stop talking about a ******* revolution
god, youre so naïve(cough spit cough
crying for justice in the dead of night
whens the last time someone heard you screaming?or
cared?)

1.
there's a gun in your hand that doesn't belong there, a windmill where your heart should be
painting on the inside of someone else's skull screaming "i don't give a ****"
did your voice break? OH MY GOD YOU DISEASE
YOU GREAT UNDERESTIMATER, YOU FILTH
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TURN A PERSON INTO A JACK-O-LANTERN
scooping out seeds for your masters degree
"new advances in science every day" can you smell the ink drying on the back of your wrist
ghost stories arent the same thing as ghosts
"why do hospitals think white is calming" and other laments
sorry, i mean bulletholes
sorry, i mean manmade caverns, tunnels built for metal to crawl its way out of membrane
question: what kind of science experiment requires a human corpse
answer:
answer:
answer:
you will never understand the answer to this question.you will never understand why someone stands up in their seat, screaming "i don't give a ****"
its raining outside.its raining outside.seven of your family members are lying in trash heaps,limbs discarded
and you don't know this yet
but it wasn't my fault.it wasn't me this time (stop looking at me like that
tail clenched tight between your teeth
you smell like a swamp,oh god)
choking to death on someone else's blood: typical.you're a cliche
this has happened before, hasn't it?we were murdered before,
but you don't remember that, or you do but youre pretending not to.tend to
your wounds, lick the blood.
papercuts are a gateway drug
you used to be something pretty.shiny and unkempt,
pretty and a ***** kinda clean:i wanna rip my own throat out
carve triangles in the pit of my stomach so
at least part of me will know how to smile.
clawing at yr eyes like itll make the flies go away
its in their nature
god,what kind of monster are you
what kind of beast.
everything you know up in flames:wither
do you know how fast human bodies decay?welcome to wormfood.welcome to paradise
coughing up tar and feathers "you came prepared"
for what?for an execution?happy doomsday
punch the wall.rub your knuckles.try again
make it bruise
****** and mangled, paint chips cutting off your circulation
YOU JUST NEVER KNOW WHEN TO QUIT DO YOU
youre so kind.thanks for everything,thanks for
the hollow chest,thanks for
****** fists
(you knew this would happen eventually
can you even take a punch?can you even take a punch?)
severed conscience, or whatever it was.
"No One Will Miss You Anyway"
is that what theyre saying?
your nailbeds are sticky
soda and something sweeter and dirt
you had so much to live for,until you didn't
(isnt that what they all say?god,youre such a cliche.)
found dead or dying,isnt that how it goes
no one just drowns
"we have reason to believe--"
you can hear every star dying,all at once
kneeling in front of a toilet that starting to look a lot like you
theres a gun in your lap and a bullet in your head and you dont know which one to trust
this isnt your fault.this isnt your fault.
clean yourself up,god youre disgusting.
how to say your name without choking on it
holding hands with a girl you never met
isnt this what its supposed to feel like?arent you supposed to feel full?
emptiness is your native language.the hollow space in your body echoes back at you
chimneysweep swallowing dust clouds,brushing their teeth with acid and magellanic galaxies
JUST STOP, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, GOD IM TIRED LISTENING TO THE SOUND OF YOUR SCREAMS
paranoia is smooth, blurry around the edges:
its not your fault you couldn't meet a deadline.

2.
war in your sheets and the soft folds of your belly
(and in the soles of your feet
i feel rough ground, rocks pricking into your skin
do you smell blood?)
not quite human, but vampires havent scared you for years
"**** me dry" can you taste it yet, can you feel the fear crawling up out of your stomach
your throat is so empty, a cavern without bats
stalactite secrecy pooling at your feet: this is what it feels like to be alone
sorry about the mess we made
sorry about the paint on the walls
scrubbing glitter into your arms,rubbing skin raw and red
arent you pretty? arent you pretty?
tombs cracking, mausoleums wishing for more graves to dig
havent you robbed enough for one lifetime
write eulogies for people who havent died yet,this is your calling
arent you pretty?
WHITE NOISE ON REPEAT, 10 HOURS
boxed wine stinking up the trunk of your car
(well,that and something else)
dont feel sorry for me darling
you say my name like it’s killing you,and maybe it is
thanks for the flowers and the card,what kind of greek tragedy is this
are you tired? are you tired?
what a spectacle
you,lying on a bed that doesnt belong to you,dying without permission(How Rude!)
dionysian struggle,and look,now the wine’s spilt over everything
i told you this would happen
what a pretty train wreck you are!2:30 am,still alive,
god youre bleeding on everything,how rude.how rude.
heart cut out and beating three thousand miles away under your mothers bed
oh,sweetheart
YOU KNEW IT WOULD END LIKE THIS,dissociating,can you feel the earth bend away from you?
what a demon
crust,mantle,core,screaming at the sight of you
when was the last time you believed in magic,hands on thighs
walls of the abandoned building screaming back in your face
(“i don’t give a ****” like someone can hear you
like someone cares enough to listen)
a broken Bic lighter/someone else’s EpiPen/a ****** handkerchief, shoved in the pocket of a jacket you dont remember buying.
wrapped up like holy things and you think maybe they were one time
“******* with no end” god youre so cool arent you?how edgy,how punk.how grotesque, the mess on your hands.
shouting your **** streak in the dead of night
is that supposed to impress us?are you putting on a show?Holy Prophet
here to forgive your sins
a woman sitting across from you is bleeding and you imagine swallowing her hands whole
“just let them win this time” how sweet of you,how kind!
this isnt my fault.this isnt my fault.
im just a corpse,remember?i hope you regret every part of this
i hope you choke on her fingers and i hope you die
MY GOD IT MAKES ME LAUGH
painted in the image of god:how funny.how sweet.what a nice thought
you called me a weapon like it was supposed to mean something
like it ever did

3.
mistaken king centuries old stepping on Holy feet
(can you see him?pressed up against the grass trying to disappear
god, what a ******* poseur)
frostbite kissing you,what a nice sentiment
crying with joy as it curls around you
“you just gotta be numb to it, you know?”
please marry me, oh god, i’m in love with you
my heart beats thirty feet out of my chest when im around you (that’s what love means, right)
you feel it ripping you apart,glory
smell stardust in the air and then stomp it out
it never mattered that much anyway,or at least that’s what
you tell yourself
you move like it’s your death wish, like “better here than somewhere else”, like
they taught you how to bleed in all
the right ways.on cue. on cue.
broken telephone wires/that Bic lighter, again/a pile of pumpkin seeds digging
into the palm of your hand
How To Cauterize An Open Wound
torn skin, and blood, and maybe some of your intestines, too
stick knives in your stomach(look, we match!)
there’s still a gun in your hand and it’s smoking and you don’t remember firing it (but that’s
okay, isn’t it? this has to be okay)
you built a shipyard in your ribcage,sent sailors off
to die in your throat
choking on a swarm of ******* bees
youre so cool arent you?youre so cool arent you?
you feel the ***** coming up ten years before it actually does, feel your stomach
bloating,the stench of it all
terrariums bleeding onto the streets, how ugly.what a putrid sight.
youre missing teeth,mouth gaping open
stubbed and ****** where nothing new ever grew in,
don’t know know that hate breeds hate
precious metals ooze off your tongue, join the parade! fall into
a stupor,
collect your wits and die,just die.
“i’m sorry for your loss” written on twenty different greeting cards, did you
think i wouldnt know it was you?
i bruise so easily and you know this, even with a gun breathing heavy against your ribcage.lace spiderwebs
around your neck and pull them tight this time
lighting fires with one hand,putting them out
with the other
YOU’RE SUCH A ******* MARTYR
YOU GRANDIOSE *******
your shoes are too tight, your toes are turning blue,
and i’m still in love with you even though
i don’t even know who you are anymore
god, im a cliche
does that make you happy?
god, i hope it does
you tell me, “poems are supposed to have a rhythm”
smiling like i just said something funny
i’m sorry about the dead flowers.im sorry about that night in the living room.
sorry for the things i said.
the feeling of being in motion/radiation vibrating across your tongue/a handful of snow
listen to the church choir singing--
in. out. dead. it wasnt your-slash-my fault
you say it outloud:
“your-slash-my”, the only way you can tether yourself
to something else.
someone is digging into the small of your back (ill
give you a hint:its me)
can you feel the talons? you take off your clothes, press
your body to the concrete
let the frost build on your spine,your fingers,your
legs
kiss the spool of ants where your ear used to be
swallow hard.
o, songbird! o, thrush!
the mellow winter calling (your mouth
curves around the word vociferous like you cant breathe without it--
this was always my favorite part)
“who told you the ending” and you say
god,  i just knew.
holy, holy, holy, swept off the palm of your hand like dust
rusty spoons and nails And Other Artifacts pooling at your feet
***** with revenge, or desire, or both.
[ SEVEN HOLLOW CHAPELS SINGING ABOUT LONELINESS ]
dont bury this too.not the bibelots, not the science experiments, not the smoking gun
carving itself into your palm
you will forget the ships on the horizon, the feel of someone else’s stomach beneath your hands, your tongue, your skin.
all these things, too: she said.

hello, executioner
hello starlight, hello pillager
make me a village
give me pitchforks give me haybales i will give you a show
brand new, glitter stuck shiny on the sign out front crying havoc
crying
"hello executioner lead me to the
slaughter"
you menace
isnt this a sight?
twenty-five love letters to a guillotine and a girl you killed
seven hundred years ago
advertising strategy number thirty-four: **** your neighbor
**** everyone you know and then **** yourself
are you jealous? are your eyes open?
i can hear your nose bleeding from here
(twenty-five love letters addressed to a dead person
oh god oh god,
can your hear the water rush)
the disposal is running in the sink
"what are you a robot"
stop talking about anarchy this isnt a drug bust
two white balloons and blood on the ceiling
haven't you ever seen a dead body before?

tie me down
crowing about a crown of flowers
curl my palm into the hollow of your cheek
(oh my god drown me)
and here we have the soldier
hands covered in blood and knives (and something
else;but
we don't talk about that)
look how the blind man cries tonight
see these bones on the grass
frost building in the cavity between your ribs and
your skin
SCREAMING ****** IN THE HALLWAY
(THIS IS THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN HEAR YOURSELF
THINK
THIS IS THE ONLY WAY ANYONE KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE)
you, love, you, goldfinch
climbing windowsills
creep in the dead of night, cicatrix spiderwebs
here, here, here, in the small of your back
(can you feel me, here, crawling into your skin?can
you feel me sewing our palms together, goldfinch?)
"and the world will revel in wonder and delight--"

r u a psychic
because yr the only ten i see
wait

"oh, there you are", and i’m not sure
where i’m supposed to have been
here we are again angelflower
tying stones to our chests and waiting to drown (this is okay,
i swear to god, or something like that
isnt that what i’m supposed to say?)
i want to set the world on fire, gaslit galaxy
isnt it so fitting? isnt it just perfect?
i wonder how many astronomy problems you havent solved
and you say, "god
this isn't important right now
how can you be a god when you're not immortal"
sometimes i think you can feel me bleeding from 1643 miles away
this isn’t neverland anymore--
what are you afraid of?
something about cornfields and misery heartbeats and
almost like you said something you shouldn’t have,isn’t it? you’re always
so proud,
you’re always so hungry.
by god, you old man, you weathered, withered, beast
grab a shovel, grab whatever you can
this isn’t neverland anymore--
this isn’t andromeda,no galaxy here,
no stars or planetary confinement,
and you were never icarus.

moderate to severe autocannibalistic tendencies
and an aegyptosaurus to boot

oh mygod,ohmy god
stop ******* talking about your martyr complex
some of us arent enjoying this
(THE STATE OF BEING INFERIOR)
(it's okay, dont worry about that weird taste in your mouth
it goes away after a few hours)

you lied about the metaphors
but thats okay,because i lied about them too
(congratulations!youve won one million dollars,
have fun selling your ******* soul
it's okay,dont be shy
we've all lied about the metaphors before)

cough up yr misery lungs cough up whatever words u were spoonfed before u knew what words were
god,vermin,what have they done to u
u told me this is what chains feel like,tight bound against ******* silk
tell me,vermin,does it hurt to have yr eyes pecked out?does it hurt to be wrong,vermin?
yr a disgrace(is that what they told u?) but god u look nice tonight
i can see the bags underneath yr eyes outlined by every bad thing u've ever said
god u look beautiful
im waiting for a train.no,im waiting for ten trains,all going in the same direction
24-hour unrest system and all u can think to say is "dead birds
make good pets"

i can feel someones heart beating from 2000 miles away

hello **** hello scourge of the earth,hello bloodbath
this is what you get for being a vampire.and i'll say, 
god,what kind of monster is this? god,you're pathetic. 
now this,now this,now we're holding hands through the sunset, 
now this.
stop writing sonnets for dead heroes 
i'm no hercules,no sweet moonlight 
no sweet sorrow,no sweetness for you tonight. 
i dip branches in blood,i'm the bearer of the holy cup, 
don't waste firepower on storm clouds. 
and you say, look at the mess you've made, body counts dripping down your tongue 
what an easy ****. the target was painted on before he was born 
serenade me cherry sugar sweet, 
and i say,what happened to massacre. 
this is the part where i apologize for my own mind 
i'm sorry about all this, 
static electricity.cassette tape crawling up your windpipe,sorry about the mess.
and,and,and. 
wine and something filthy 
teeth crumbling in your hands 
this was a home once.and over here,this was a battlefield once.
your nose is bleeding all over the place,god youre disgusting,clean up this ******* mess
and you say, remember me 
and i say,im ******* blind.this is your fault.
i never meant to **** them,this isnt me
andandand
(and the dust settles and here you are,stench of the century,in your rightful place
welcome to the holy land,you putrid,filthy thing)

I FORGOT TO WASH MY HAIR FOR TWO WEEKS IM ******* SLIMY ALL OVER DO YOU STILL WANT TO KISS ME
this isnt a ******* pride parade **** me with your eyes open
**** me and say "god,the smell of you"
the stench
******* spiders crawling out of my mouth i smell like a gutter turned into a bomb shelter
im an epidemic
ITS ******* ART THATS WHY I RIPPED OUT YOUR THROAT ITS ALL A METAPHOR DONT YOU SEE IT NOW
let go of me. let go of me--slime central
home of the world famous gutter babe
******* ******* shut up ******* **** me
bury your pride and the ******* ****** weapon in one line its not that complicated
but i want to be messed up, or i used to want it
or i will want it
i can feel everyone vibrating with the force of it all and somewhere you're laughing at me
chains around your ankles
this is what it takes to **** a martyr
this is what it takes to swallow him whole
go out guns blazing
WELCOME TO YOUR DARKEST HOUR
**** the switch, or turn the lights off, or whatever
put a blindfold on when you stab yourself
put a blindfold on me when you pull my intestines out with your bare hands
desecrate me
im not a tomb but im a funeral pyre
bodies are my specialty
sorry, i misspoke
what i meant to say was, "i want to **** myself"
but i won't, not when the meats so fresh, lick blood off of my kneecap
YOU WERE ALWAYS GOING TO BE THE SACRIFICE
sentiment is for liars and thieves
(im both but you dont know that yet, it hasn't happened yet--shut up, I'm telling the story.this is my fall from grace,not yours)
bite your tongue bite your teeth too in fact
just bite yourself ******
its better this way, or whatever you want to hear
what am i supposed to say to a graverobber? do you want me to thank you,is that what this is about?
*******, *******, what the **** are you still doing here, anyway?
i hope you rot
i hope we both rot
(AND HERES THE PART WHERE YOU SAY "I ALWAYS LOVED YOU" AND HERES THE PART WHERE I CUT OFF YOUR HEAD)

ME, SCREAMING ON THE FLOOR THINKING ABOUT RIPPING PEOPLES THROATS OUT I WANT TO ****
I WANT TO **** MYSELF
ME, SCREAMING ON THE FLOOR THINKING ABOUT BLOOD AND GUTS DRIPPING FROM MY MOUTH AND MY HANDS I WANT TO ******* EAT SOMEONE
**** RINSE REPEAT, OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT
ME, SCREAMING ON THE FLOOR TEARING OUT MY HAIR
ME, SCREAMING ON THE FLOOR THINKING ABOUT THE MATHEMATICAL STATISTICS OF SURVIVING A FALL OUT OF MY BEDROOM WINDOW
ME, SCREAMING ON THE FLOOR
ME, SCREAMING

CONGRATULATIONS
give me decapitated heads,this is my prize(everyone is out to get me)
dont throw away the axe, it's yours
(STOP SCREAMING ITS ALL IN YOUR HEAD YOU ******* COWARD LOOK AT WHAT YOUVE DONE)
everyone in the world is screaming right now
yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault
come on,******* **** me
CONGRATULATIONS**
and im dead by tomorrow night

me, after i traced dirt up my arms and underneath my skin. i can still find you in my veins, turning blood into a maelstrom, this isn't what rain is supposed to feel like, i can taste wire fences on the tip of my tongue but i still can't get the smell of you out of my mouth

me, choking on dead air, static playing on an endless loop in my jaw, deaddeaddead i'm dead i can feel breath rattling in my lungs and i'm dead this must be what corpses feel like

me, imagining what corpses feel like

me, imagining what corpses feel like

me, imagining what corpses feel like

me, me, me, me, me, looped around three hundred times, me, not entirely there, me not there at all, me, me, me, dead dead dead, static, static, static, static, static, static,

me, rubbing rope burns into my thighs in the middle of a panic attack

me, imagining lighting myself on fire in the middle of the night

me, lighting myself on fire in the middle of the night

me, thinking about dying

me, feeling dead but not dying

me, clenching my hands so hard i can feel my entire body vibrating with it i'm a god i'm immortal hit me ******* hit me i swear to god i won't ******* bleed

me, static, dead, dead, dead, dead, ******* static on repeat, a record broken in three different places, static fuzzy on my slippery tongue

me, smashed to pieces, unholy lovely thing

me, blood blistering between my teeth

you, being lit on fire in the middle of the night

you, dead

and still, you, over there.
sitting by the windowsill, and so on.

and yeah, we won the war but we lost everything else

you forged your own steel in the molten lava of my belly, a pennyworth of paradise,
frozen tree branches dripping icicles down my back
this is what it feels like to be an active volcano
anatomy lessons are nothing like the curve of your spine while you're asleep
rising and falling like a familiar chorus
i know this dance well, i've memorized the steps you will take
locked it inside my chest and threw away the key
lake michigan warm underneath the mattress in your room
you, me, and stormdoor-fragile winter nights
you hold whispers in your palms like they're something holy
there's a word buried in your lungs, in the nape of your neck, and you don't quite know how to pronounce it
i can still feel your fingers exploring the dip at the bottom of my spine like there's treasure somewhere
you just haven't found it yet, and
you tell me my house is more like a graveyard, and
remember when we found red underneath our fingernails, and
remember when there was more ash in your hair than in the ground, and
i love you i love you i love you, and so on
this is a stolen book off a stolen shelf and it still says that i love you, and so on
we were never in love with each other, not how we were supposed to
"this will destroy you", but it didnt
you're bleeding on everything and my hands are starting to slip and grab my hand
(and this isn't how it's supposed to go, but i still love you, and so on)

mime,give me flowers in the dark
paint me a picture of gods
make me someone holy
when im dead i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest
sorry about the mess we left,sorry about the apple tree,sorry about the taste in your mouth
i hope its not too bitter for you
is this the part where i apologize for ripped sheets on a bed that never belonged to me in the first place?
sorry,sweetheart,sorry that i wasnt the right narcissistic ***** for you
is this the part where you mutilate a french love song?i hope it all works out for you
i hope you find an ax buried in the coffin underneath the apple tree
i hope you use it to demolish my house,i hope you find my corpse
and i hope you cauterize the hole in your chest