I remember
the way she held my hand like no one was watching
because to her
no one was.

I remember
the slight panic that would always go through my head
when she'd hold my hand
because I wouldn't let anyone know
I liked girls.

I remember
our first kiss.
How she started at my cheek
and then moved to my lips
but only for a moment
to move back to my cheek
and down to my neck.

I remember
the first time I ever felt that electricity
flow through my body
so fluidly
I though my cells had liquified.

I remember
the day that she wore sleeves so low
you could only see her finger tips.
Her legs were never shown.

I remember
that day, because that was the day
she broke my heart
for the first time
involuntarily.

I remember
my hand lifting up her sleeve
even though my mind was screaming at me
"DON'T!
You don't want to see this."
But I did anyways.

I remember
how she was wearing two shirts
the first soaked with blood
the second only spotted.

I remember
my heart tearing into two
individual pieces
because I wasn't there for her at the time
she needed me most.

I remember
reading.

I remember
reading the words of her soul
that were etched onto her skin.
A "FML" in bright red letters
on the top of her hand
and a tally mark on her arm
for every time she thought
she wasn't good enough
and I wasn't there to reassure her
of just how amazing
she really was.

I remember
Christmas.
Her surgeries
and multiple trips to the hospital.

I remember
my panic attacks
for fear of losing her forever.
That was the second time
she broke my heart
involuntarily.

I remember
our first break up.

I remember
how it hurt her more
than it could ever possibly hurt me.
And it hurt a whole **** lot
when I heard the words
"I'm sorry"
"I cant"
"I love you"
and "Its only to protect you".

I remember
screaming.
Screaming at her
my friends
the walls
and to God.
To everyone and no one
because I didnt know how to express
my heartbreak.
That was the third time
she broke my heart
involuntarily.

I remember
loving her.
Without a soul knowing
because I was ashamed
to tell people
"I love this girl!"

I remember
the day I got the news
that I may possibly never see her again.
That she had been taken away
to a home
and that she cant have contact with anyone.

And now I remember
the feelings
of wanting to scream from the rooftops
"I loved that girl!"

I remember
because those feelings happened
a mere 10 seconds ago.
This is the fourth time
shes broke my heart
involuntarily.

But within all these painful memories
I remember
her.

She steps onto that same scale everyday.
And everyday, no matter what the number,
It always reads "Eat Less”.
And so she does.
All she wants is a flat stomach, small thighs, and to be skinny enough that she’s classified as bony.
Is that too much to ask?
She gives herself a gold star every time she goes 12 hours without food.
Creating the idea that she is doing something good.
She collected so many stars that a full stomach was something never felt.
Counting every calorie her body would intake.
Working out for hours just because she broke down and ate one cookie yesterday.
She has a constant reminder in the back of her head to **** in her stomach.
But now it does it all on it’s own,
Like an empty black hole.
She is a slave to hunger,
But he eventually goes unnoticed.
She got her flat stomach and small thighs yet still cannot stop.
She grows weaker and weaker everyday.
As her life begins to slip through her fingers,
She’ll die perfect.
Looking like a stick.

Summer lies while river rats gnaw on posts
weathered from the reverence tides.
Hunching over limestone slate,
picture ******-eyed states of the caricatures.

Loss of limbs in dissociative fugue.
St. Anthony's fire up along the coast.
Ergot Dreams: Such splendid things!

Waking up in a pool with callosum yarns
spinning words of concern.
And i've come so close
time and time
to find the pinhole tube light.

Words keep seeping out,
I hear my mother holding me here.
Frozen solid.
Stuck in a cot.
Letting the little ******* off his chain just to
hear him stream

How many lives to burn in the ecclesia pyre
while jesus sweeps the remainders
off to sea?

Maybe I have died again,
living in this ferrous skin.
Seeded fledgling after all.

I whisper your name to myself,
and it puts this smile on my lips that's hard to wash away.
This feeling that's come over me,
Is so very warm.
It spreads with delight from the top of my head,
to the very tips of my toes.

I'm tangled in words and emotions, thoughts spin out of control. Hypnotising me in endless day dreams. Possibilities as countless as heart beats.

You must be my new fascination.
I'm beginning to settle in,
becoming to comfortable in your thoughts.
I wonder how good your lips might taste touching mine,
How your body might feel under my touch.


Lay me down,
Let me belong to you.
Just don't let me fade away...
I crave to be more then an indent on your bed sheets.
This time,
I want more then a once whispered name.

His Down's Syndrome makes
His age a tough guess, I'll
Say eight to ten.

Wide eyes on machines,
Ice cream dripping on the
Pavement outside the

Construction site.
I wanna work like this when
I grow up, he says in

Young enthusiasm to a mother
Whose eyes well up with
Gratitude when I approach

And kneel down in front of
Him. So you want a job,
Buddy? I ask him with a

Wink. He suddenly remembers
His ice cream and bites into
It shyly. Nods, glancing at the

Tools in my belt, the scratches
On my arms, the brick wall
I've been attacking with a

Wacker jackhammer. Nods
Again. Well, I'll see you in a
Few years, I say with another

Wink, this time to his mother,
Who'd look her young age if
Her eyes weren't as tired,

But you can start with this
And get some practice. I hand
Him my Stanley Fat Max

Hammer. His ice cream
Hits the ground as he
Recieves it with both hands,

Looking to his mother for
Confirmation that it's ok.
Oh, it is. She mouths a

Thank you SO much...
They walk away, his chatter
High pitched and fading

Around the corner. And I
Head over to the foreman to
Report that I lost my hammer.

Don't ever employ me.
I can work a good game, but
I'm too soft around little heroes.

i imagine pulling over at a canyon
seeing the day they took all the pictures
off the wall when she died
i stop for a picnic on a scar
from getting too close to the junk
but you made it and making it is all that matters
i see the ends of your hands
as 15th century cartography talks to the hierarch
a promise of platitudes
flat and lacking grandeur
how on that plane it knows
when you turn them over
like pages of a book
and secrets pour out
they don't tremble like they used to
haven't had an earthquake in years
not even a tremor
not even happenstance could stop me
from gawking at the pile up on 64
how outwardly looking
in you don't look like a "wreck"
your hands remind me more
of a car crash without the quotation marks