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

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

youve been alive for twenty-one years and youre just ******* worn out
you havent slept in twelve but thats okay right
because sleeping means the nightmares and youre already living one
you cant get out of your own mind and neither can he
and honey you grew up a soldier
didnt know a pipe dream from a semi-automatic
and he looks at you and says "you could have been a great machine"

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

day 1: today i found out about the machines. sometimes i can feel your hand in mine. you used to grab it and pull, like you couldn't go as fast as you wanted to without taking me with you. war is never pretty, but you sure are. were. you were pretty. i still remember the last time i saw you.

day 2: do you remember when our names were joined together? people used to spit them out in one go, 'cause there wasn't a day either of us went somewhere without the other. they don't do that anymore. wish you were here.

day 3: i had a dream about you last night. i still can't feel my left arm. i miss you.

day 4: they're working on building machines that look and act like people. maybe i was a test drive. i still miss you.

day 5: i remembered something today (this is rare for me. if you were here i'd tell you why). you used to curve around your sketchpad, like it was a part of you. one night (june. i don't remember the year) i traced your spine and you shivered. i think about that a lot. i'm not sure why.

day 6: i miss you.

day 7: i love you.

day 8: remember our old bean plant we had growing in the windowsill? you used to fuss over it so much. (i used to fuss over you so much, too, but to be fair you're slightly more important than a bean plant. slightly.) you wasted a summer's worth of water on that **** thing, and never regretted it once.

day 9: we used to fold into each other during brooklyn winters, when the heat cut out and we had nothing but each other. now i just have nothing.

day 10: i can't get drunk now, either.

day 11: i saw my gravestone today. yours is right next to it, did you know that? they're both empty. they never found our bodies.

day 12: monochromia. that's what you had. i wonder if it went away after. you never saw colors and i saw too many.

day 13: i dreamt about you last night again. i've been remembering more. it's slow, but steady. fragments of memories every day. maybe one day i'll remember it all.

day 14: again. i think my subconscious is trying to punish me. i wish i could just forget again. maybe it would make everything easier.

day 15: again.

day 16: i haven't left my bed in twenty-one hours. this is the only way i can see you.

day 17: i wonder if you'd have married her if you hadn't died. a part of me (i'm sorry. all of me. every single ******* atom in my body) hopes you wouldn't have. it also knows that you would have. i miss you.

day 18: it's your birthday.

day 19: anachronism: a thing belonging or appropriate to a period other than that in which it exists, especially a thing that is conspicuously old-fashioned.

day 20: hello again. i missed you.

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?

i. you broke both my legs and i'm still trying to walk. you ripped concertos from the back of my throat and said,
"look how beautiful you are."

ii. you don't have a nice smile. you smile like it's hurting you, like it's tearing you apart from the inside and you choke out words like stakes digging into my back, saying,
"then again, you did seem heaven sent."

iii. you sing church hymns with your whole self, your body pulsating with the force of it. you look at me when you sing, narrow your eyes as you kiss me, singing amazing grace like it actually meant something to you.

iv. you're biblical. you kiss my fingers and hiss holy words into the spaces between them, recite verses when we go to sleep at night, whispering,
"i don't have much faith left for messiahs, but i'm pretty sure you could be one."

v. i hate you and i don't know why. actually, that's wrong. i hate you because you never really died, did you, you're still here, imprinted across every surface in my house did you know that having an eidetic memory means i will never be able to forget you?

vi. you shattered my jaw and took the remains with you, painting a mural in different shades of red, saying,
"sweetheart, this is how you look best."

vii. you told me once that vampires are just vengeful angels and i don't know if i still believe that. i don't know if i ever believed that. i don't know what you believe when you tell me,
"look at the mess you've made."

viii. i wonder how long i've been faithless, or faithful. whatever you want to call it, sweetheart, when you say,
"you could have been all this, love, and more."

“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)

Tell me about the garden again,
        tell me this is our last night on earth and you just want to know that it's real
                                tell me fairytales. Tell me
this is everything you've ever dreamed of
                 and more.
Kiss me with whiskey lips and cigarette teeth
                        kiss me like you'll never have a chance to kiss someone again. I want to feel you. I want to taste callous remarks
        on your tongue
                 give them to me, give me everything and then give me more. Sing to me
                                write me ten thousand sonnets and recite them
        ignite everything we've ever been.
                                                              This is your chance. Tell me about
                         the vines.
Tell me a thousand things, and more, and more. Drink me in, like this,
                sprawled out on your bed, laughing like it's the end of the world. We don't have much time.
                                       Let's end it all, hangman's rope and a burning will,
        or let's stay a little longer.
I want to hear your voice again. Tell me how we're ruined.
                Tell me how I'm ruining you,
                                        and how you love it.
Tell me about tomorrow.
                                                        It's the only one we have left.

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."

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

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

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

[i'm sorry. i'm not very good at love letters. i've confessed my love to more angels than real people, but please hear me out on this.]
to the girl i ran into yesterday, with love from the girl who ran into you yesterday
i'm pretty sure i'm in love with you.
you left a handprint on my heart (a literal one;
your fingers curved over my collarbone like you were afraid you would break me)
i have cigarette butts for nerve endings
and i'm pretty sure that you must be a lit match
because i haven't felt this alive in seventeen years
please tell me you feel the same way.
i just want to feel your heart beat against mine, and i know we've only just met, i know you will probably never come to this bookstore again,
but if you say no i will pretend that this is a letter to the galaxy
(my favorite constellation is the one stretching across your shoulders;
a thousand and one stars disguised as freckles
play connect the dots with ligaments and fissures)
i will pretend that you are not the sun in my solar system
and okay, maybe i'm being overdramatic but have you ever looked into someone's eyes
and wanted to memorize every fleck of gold you see
i wrote down the things i want to know about you, a wishlist ten miles long
with nothing but your name on it
i wonder how you'd react if i held your hand in public
the sea swelling up to meet us there are wires from my heart to yours
and i know there is approximately an 86.3% chance you will never see this love letter but i wished on a star for something real
and then i ran into you
(i'm sorry again. i hope you enjoy to **** a mockingbird. it's one of my favorites.)
i hope your hair is still a preposterous shade of blue because it makes your eyes look like constellations
do you want to form a galaxy with me?
to the girl i ran into yesterday, who wore bright pink flip flops and had a tattoo of a star on her left anklebone,
i think i'm in love with you
please reply at your earliest convenience.

she says -
if i carve your name onto my ribcage in the morning before the sun comes up will it come true? will it **** you this time?
maybe ill lie down so that you can pick me apart,
fingernails breaking on my iron skin
would you like that?

i'm sorry about the way i fumble for words and breath, but i just can't catch my death i mean breath
and i'm sorry if this is weird but there are some people who mean more to me than i can express using any number of adjectives
and sometimes it scares me because my body was not made to hold this many hearts
there is impossible love in my fingertips and it will bless anyone who comes near me
i'm sorry for being a dreamer i'm sorry i got so close i'm sorry for holding galaxies in my hands but i want to be just like you when i grow up
and there are supernovas whispering behind your closed eyelids.
you cannot win acceptance from expectation i know this from experience
and maybe it's okay to be a little ****** up but i'm pretty sure my heart shouldn't ache in time with people who don't exist
i'm desaturated, not colorful enough i cannot handle pure cyan or magenta but give me olive,
give me chamoisee and i will breathe a little easier
paintings come in all shapes and sizes and rainbows i painted mine on my hands and fingers
i cannot help it if my acrylics mix with other people's watercolors
this is how i am
sometimes i go up to your front door and do not knock
i hope you will forgive me for this
i'm not in the habit of wasting breath but i will waste death until i have no more seconds and minutes and hours to do so
tell me you love me there is a heart shaped box in my chest
it is sandpaper against your palmprints but you will clutch it, fingers tight
curling in and around like it's a part of you
i'm not a geometry problem that you can solve i'm more complex than that there are wires
buried beneath my skin pumping iron through my body i'm more machine than flesh
but that doesn't mean i can't feel your hand in mine
i measure time in the beats of your heartbeat against mine
you watch me like a car crash, like i'm moving in slow motion but you still can't keep up
compartmentalize your love songs and love letters and love
your heart will stop beating if you just tell it that it can't feel anymore
i am a sea of compromises this was not the first one i have had to make and it will not be the last
but i promise you that when we're dust blowing through the desert
a thousand and one lifetimes away,
i will remember every second of you
and we will be constellations sewn into the galaxy
another fairy-tale to be read at night when our fears are loudest
and i will press my fingers to your neck to show you that your heart is still beating
i am a rainbow paint me onto your blank canvas like this is the last time we'll ever see each other
i'm not scared of how i am i'm just like everybody else
it's not my fault that i have love pulsing through my body like tidal waves
paintbrushes are rough against my rocky craters but i love them just the same
i will love you just the same.

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)

"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.

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

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?)

everyone keeps saying "we made it"
and it's actually a little confusing
because it's almost like they thought we couldn't
five teenagers on lockdown have never caused so much panic but I guess we're just
the deadbeat generation
(knock once for failure, twice for rebirth, three times to see your life in twenty years-
who knows, maybe you'll have a life in twenty years)
we pick locks on bad days turn back the clocks on good days
if we try hard enough maybe we'll go back to the glory days I wanna blast music from the busted up speakers
in the back of my car I wanna live like I used to
we're anthems and parades and kids crying out in the middle of the night when the hole in their stomach opens up
or closes
we're caught up in a whirlwind of scientific facts and figures and sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs
as if that'll help me escape the noise in my head
punk isn't about living through the fall of something it's about living through the rise of me
I am real I am here I will scream it from the ******* rooftops if I have to
I will tap my fingertips on tables even when I'm told not to
I will tattoo myself a thousand times over, an endless mantra of existence
i exist i exist i exist
this isn't a happy ending, or at least it isn't the one I was promised
but it's something
it's okay
and that's good enough because okay is ******* wonderful
lace my fingers with yours call me a queen tell me you'll never let me go because I will never let you go
we are the kids who will never stop living
even when they tell us that we are impossible we are heartbeats pounding on cracked pavement,
leather and cheap beer, lather me in love lay me down to sleep
with the promise of tomorrow
promise me that tomorrow will still be there when I wake up
you can have a house but not a home
I was a house but not a home until I met you
deadbeat degenerates make a better family than most.

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"

the sea had never seemed so great
(and here you would correct me, tell me that vast is better
than great,
spread your arms wide as if to communicate
how right you were)
as it was in that moment and i still remember the way you laughed
and tackled me down to the sand
i felt the brine fill my lungs, salt water dripping from my eyes like
it knew it belonged there
tell me i'm wrong, tell me it's a ******* shame
that we never see each other anymore
your smile is less prominent over telephone wires
i think the laughter has left your voice
please tell me you want to see me again
please tell me you want to hold my hand again
please tell me you miss me please tell me you miss me please tell me you miss me
you drew on the beach that day, finger dragging through hot sand
as you squinted over the horizon
you grabbed my palm in both of yours, laid it flat against your stomach and
asked if i could feel your lifeline yet
(i feel it now
but i can't tell you
let me add that to the list, put a quarter in the jar of
whatnottosaytoaloverafterthey'vestoppedlovingyou
i'm sorry i never let you hold my hand
it's just that i'm scared of the things that follow)

just because it says
"non toxic" does not mean that
it is edible

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.

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)

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

jesus *******--
breathe me
inhale me fit my heart in the space between your lungs and your ribcage like it's the apocalypse
(seven hours to live at the end of the world)
press your hand against my neck,metal digging into your skin like knives
i'm sorry about the way i push my fingernails into your wrist
i just want to feel something
break the skin(seven layers and a martyr complex)and tell me what you find
i'm nobody's hero
you can only bear to look at me at night,when darkness covers my face like a shroud
i'm everybody's funeral pyre
you're an ashtray waiting to be dusted off(you never told me you wanted to be cremated)
you inhale and take a step back.choke out a weak i don't wanna die and wait for my fist to connect with your cheek,****** knuckles and a hint of desperation you won't try to stop me--
IT MAY BE DIFFICULT FOR THOSE SUFFERING FROM POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER TO VOCALIZE THEIR STRUGGLES IN A WAY THAT MAKES SENSE--
my mouth is one big bruise,sweat and tears spilling from it like blood from a wound
(the **** on my cheek;you put it there.i helped,or rather,i didn't do anything to stop you.)
THOSE WITH PTSD WILL FREQUENTLY HAVE EPISODES WHERE THEY FEEL THEY ARE RELIVING THE TRAUMATIC EVENT OR EVENTS. THEY MAY NOT RECOGNIZE YOU, BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO TRY AND HELP THEM THROUGH IT.
you pretend it doesn't break you when i ask who you are(when i tell you through a haze of remembrance that i should've died too)
you don't see the bruises snaking up my arm like tattoos,like they were always meant to be there
i guess someone should have told me that carving *i love you and i'm sorry into a bullet doesn't stop the bleeding
but i love you and i'm sorry
the human heart beats on average 2.5 billion times in a lifetime
mine was only supposed to beat 7.3 million times and i guess that's why i feel so cold all the time
take me out,a lightning bolt to the heart
(a momentary feeling of loss and then silence)
they say you can feel someone in your head after they've died
i guess it's a good thing that we were never connected, wires pretending to be veins
this is a love letter disguised as a suicide note
i know i'm not supposed to say anything but god,i love you
jesus *******--
breathe me.

We are humans in a story of gods
                        every version of me loves every version of you, and so on
          when you laugh it sounds more like sobbing but you tell me to stay here a little longer. I feel your breaths echoing in my chest.
                                I could stay like this forever.
You trace your fingers over my wrist, feeling for a pulse.
                  I don't have the heart to tell you
the truth.
                         I'm sorry about the ocean when we were twelve and the river when we were sixteen
and the ocean again when we were seventeen and we had too many dreams for our bodies.
         You smell like blood. It isn't yours, but it might as well be.
                                                                         I kiss you anyway.
You love me, but it isn't the kind of love I deserve
                                                                it's too loud, it wakes them up,
                it makes me feel too small. Here is the part where I apologize for getting blood in your hair, on your arms, spattered across your cheeks like freckles.
        I'm sorry for dying on you, but I can't help myself. I love your eyes
                I could drown in them, if I wanted to.
I could drown, if I wanted to,
                                                                but you'd never speak to me again.
You kiss me and your mouth is a slash of red. It isn't your blood, but it might as well be.
                Here is the part where you hold my body to you, let your tears mix in with the blood pooling in my stomach and around it.
        Here is the part where I don't come home.
Here is the part where every version of me loves every version of 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

remember your hands, remember them like this, twirling cigarettes like ballerinas (you were four, and your mother said you looked beautiful up there). twist my fingers with your pretty hands, darling i'll thank you in the morning, gravel in my dead heart, littering rose petals at your wake you took my tongue and made it something sickening.

eat me raw, please, please, i need something to do with my fingertips, with the small of my back you bruise so much prettier than i do close your fingers around my throat i like the way you leave marks. i'm a disease and you're the closest i can come to something worth dying for.

call me beautiful, praise my hips and dig your pretty teeth into my spine. my skin is too big for my body but i'll wear it for you anyway i'll try to be pretty for you anyway your laughter lines are a geometry problem let me solve you, let me fold your smiles into me i promise i won't disappoint you.

"have you ever been in love", and "i love you i love you i love you", and "we're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service", and oh my god i love you but not in the way i'm supposed to, is it still love if i want you to carve your initials into the arch of my spine?

i'm disgusting and you're disgusting, claw your way into my stomach, hold my bleeding organs in your hands and smile at me (i know this is true love, isn't that how predators look at prey, god i want you to kiss me with your canines, god i want you to break the flesh, god i, god), i'm ******* immortal i can't die i'm prometheus chained to a rock and i can feel the sun drying my lips give me water, give me blood i don't care anymore--

and, loving you is like loving a forest fire (god, this is just like those old mixtapes you made for me, the ones with "this is for you", and "i love you i love you i love you", and "we're sorry, you have reached a number--", and god, i, god, eat me raw, and, oh god, oh god, i can't wait to eat you raw, babe, i wonder how you taste, i wonder if i'll taste you on my tongue three days after, oh god, oh god, eat me raw).

"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?)

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?

he remembers your touch but not your face
maybe if you hold on a little tighter he'll respond with a smile
he's archaic and you're a battlefield
you were never meant to touch in the first place
acute lines connecting against the laws of science
he's a geometry problem, roughness against blood vessels
his hips jut out from under his shirt
you press your thumbs against them and breathe
try not to ***** yourself on his ribcage
he'll kiss you like he means it but his eyes will cloud when you look into them
he doesn't always recognise your voice
you kiss him anyway you hold him close like maybe if your hearts beat in time for long enough he'll start to feel it
the first time he looks at you with eyes that belong to him you think your lungs might close up
he sketches you, fingers trailing like stardust over skin and jutting bone
you used to dig a knife into the palm of your hand just to make sure you would bleed like everybody else
he used to dig a knife into the upper-left side of his chest just to make sure he was really human
you cradle your scars together
LIVEDIELIVEREPEAT
the pain's more bearable with him
you hold him when he has nightmares and he holds you when you can't take living
(all that you used to know is gone;
you're all each other has left
survivors of a lost age)
life is a series of compromises
you've already made enough for one lifetime

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.

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

i can feel someones heart beating from 2000 miles away

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.

It is 7.30 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together like days of the week, normalcy perspiring in the air behind us.
It is 7.31 and I am still thinking about your cheekbones, collarbones, hipbones. I am still thinking about your bones. You haven't returned my phone calls in a week.
It is 7.32 and I am still thinking about forest fires.
It is 7.33 and I am still thinking about clocks ticking and how it's kind of funny how we are always counting the days we have left, instead of the days we have.
It is 7.34 and I am still thinking about how my apologies never really cut it.
It is 7.35 and I am sorry.
It is 7.36 and I wonder how hard it is to tie a noose.
It is 7.37 and I am still thinking about the normal length of a pause when you're telling someone you love them, too.
It is 7.38 and I love you, too.
It is 7.39 and I am still trying not to think about how loud the doorbell echoes in the entrance hall now.
It is 7.40 and I am still thinking about the absence of stairways.
It is 7.41 and I am still thinking about hunger pains and alleyways and the warmth of your hand on my spine.
It is 7.42 and there are some things you can't say to other people but holy ****, I miss you.
It is 7.43 and I'm sorry again.
It is 7.44 and I am still thinking about short hands on clocks.
It is 7.45 and I am still imagining footfalls landing heavy on the carpet outside my bedroom and trying not to hope they're yours.
It is 7.46 and I hope they're yours.
It is 7.47 and I am still thinking about the glass in my ribcage digging in harder than your fingernails ever could.
It is 7.48 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together.
It is 7.49 and I'm sorry again.

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)

WHEN I SLEEP ALL I SEE IS YOUR ******* FACE
IT'S BEEN THREE YEARS AND YOU STILL WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE
YOU'RE BARELY A VAPOR BUT I STILL HEAR YOUR VOICE IN MY HEAD STOP TEMPTING ME TO JUMP OFF YOUR CLIFF
THE TRUTH AND I SHARE A WATERY GRAVE AND I DON'T WANT TO FACE MY OWN FUTURE
MY HEARTBEAT HAS FLUCTUATED SEVEN TIMES IN THE PAST HOUR
FOUR TIMES WERE YOUR FAULT
THE REST WERE BECAUSE OF MY ASTHMA ATTACK I HAVE TO USE MY INHALER WHENEVER I HEAR YOUR VOICE IN MY HEAD
I WOKE UP YESTERDAY AND YOUR NAME BLED OUT OF MY MOUTH LIKE WATER FROM A ******* SPOUT WHY CAN'T I FORGET YOU ALREADY
IF I SHOOT YOUR GRAVESTONE WILL YOUR GHOST GO UP IN FLAMES?IF I CLAW OUT MY EYES WILL I FINALLY STOP SEEING YOU IN PLACES YOU CANNOT BE?IF I LET FEATHERS FALL FROM MY BACK LIKE ANGELS' WINGS WILL YOU COME BACK TO LIFE?
TOUCH YOUR FINGERS TO MY CROWS FEET AND TELL ME I LOOK ******* AWFUL
PLEASE JUST TELL ME I LOOK ******* AWFUL
THERE ARE SEVEN WAYS TO TELL SOMEONE YOU HATE THEIR GUTS
ONE OF THEM IS DYING
I'M SORRY YOU HATE MY GUTS BUT I HATE YOURS MORE
I HATE YOUR LIVER AND YOUR KIDNEYS AND YOUR ******* LUNGS I HATE HOW MUCH YOU SMOKED
I HATE HOW YOU REMEMBERED MY ASTHMA AND BLEW OUT THE ASHES AWAY FROM MY FACE
WEAVE LACEWORK OVER MY HANDS AND FACE LEAVE DOTS OF BLOOD AROUND MY EYES
SHOW ME YOU WERE HERE
SHOW ME THAT I DIDN'T MAKE YOU UP YOU WERE NEVER A FEVER DREAM
YOU WERE COLD AND REAL AND I WISH YOUR PIANIST'S FINGERS COULD STILL PLAY
THERE IS NO GREY AREA ON A BABY GRAND
NO ROOM FOR ERROR WHEN YOU CRASH YOUR CAR INTO A BRICK WALL
THEY TOLD ME TO HONOR YOUR MEMORY SO I CUT OUT MY LUNGS IN THE HOPES THAT IT WOULD HELP YOU TO BREATHE AGAIN
THIS IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A TSUNAMI AND A HURRICANE.

YOU ONLY EVER KISS HIM WITH THE LIGHTS OFF. YOU RUN YOUR HANDS THROUGH YOUR HAIR; IT WAS CUT A FEW DAYS AGO AND YOU'RE NOT SURE IF YOU LIKE IT. YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'RE JUST KEEPING UP THE PRETENSE OF THE PERSON YOU USED TO BE. YOU'RE NOT SURE IF YOU'LL EVER FEEL LIKE HIM AGAIN.

HE, AS USUAL, LOVES YOU AND SOMETIMES YOU WANT TO RIP OFF HIS ******* CLOTHES AND TAKE HIM AND SOMETIMES YOU JUST WANT TO SCREAM AND RUN AWAY AND NEVER LOOK HIM IN THE EYES AGAIN (AND SOMETIMES YOU WANT TO RIP OFF YOUR ******* SKIN AND HOPE YOU NEVER BREATHE AGAIN). YOU NEVER TELL HIM THIS. YOU ADD IT TO THE PILE OF SECRETS. RINSE AND REPEAT;;;

AS THE DAYS GO BY THE BLUE EYES START MIXING WITH THE KIND OF REDNESS YOU CAN'T SCRUB AWAY. YOU TRY TO LAUGH BECAUSE YOU'RE LIKE HIM NOW (RED WHITE AND BLUE YOU'RE A ******* BANNER AND HE'S AN ICON). IT COMES OUT BROKEN. YOU DON'T TELL HIM WHY.

YOU STOP SMILING AND THE CIGARETTES PILE UP AND THE BOTTLES PILE UP AND THE SECRETS PILE UP. HE'S STOPPED LOOKING YOU IN THE EYES AND YOU'VE STOPPED PRETENDING NOT TO NOTICE. HE DRAGS YOU OUT OF BED AT TWO IN THE MORNING TO YELL AT YOU AND IT TAKES ALL THE ENERGY YOU CAN MUSTER TO LOOK AT HIM.

HE STOPS SMILING.

WHEN HE SAYS HE LOVES YOU HE DOESN'T MEAN IT. THIS IS OKAY; YOU HAVEN'T SAID IT BACK SINCE HE SAVED YOU. WHEN YOU SAY IT BACK ANYWAY YOU MEAN IT. HE LAUGHS AT YOU.

YOU TRY TO STOP BREATHING ONETWOTHREEFOUR TIMES. YOU STOP RETURNING HIS PHONE CALLS. YOU DON'T BELONG HERE THIS BODY HASN'T FELT LIKE YOURS IN SEVENTY YEARS BUT YOU STILL WISH YOU COULD CRAWL INSIDE YOUR OWN SKIN.

HE SHOWS UP AT YOUR HOUSE AT TWO IN THE MORNING AND ******* SCREAMS AT YOU. THIS IS THE MOST ALIVE YOU'VE FELT IN AN AGE. YOU TELL HIM THIS AND YOU LOOK AWAY WHEN HIS FACE CRUMPLES.

HE KISSES YOU WITH THE LIGHTS ON.

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