too often i find myself
feeling like my head
is a balloon full of helium
tethering itself to my neck
by a ribbon curled with
an open pair of scissors

too often i find myself telling myself
that this isn’t a good way to feel,
that this is how it started last time,
that i should eat more food,
drink less coffee but more *****.

too often i taste him
underneath my fingernails and
wonder how long it will take
for my cuticles to forget him
and wonder when the nightmares
might give it a rest,
because i could use some sleep.

she smelled
of quiet snowfall
at 2AM on Sunday.

she left me
some months ago
and I am still
washing her out
of my bedsheets

im drifting in and out
floating around
this body does not belong to me

the clench of my hands
physical touch
its all so distant
this body does not contain me

my vision blurs
voices fade
this body is not helping me

the clothes i put on
hats i wear
the glasses that rest on my nose
this body does not represent me

staring in mirrors
clawing at skin
this body will be the death of me

The sky, last night as if fell asleep, was the wrong color
i know whats just how light pollution goes
But still i just huddled in my sheets
unsteady breathing
today the sky is silver grey
and the birds are singing their winter songs
I always wonder how the key is never wrong
they are always in harmony.

She tells me I’m beautiful
like the snow she’s seeing
for the very first time.
Her mouth opens to catch
some of the cold, and it
slides down her throat,
and I want to kiss her,
if only to steal the shivers
from between her teeth.

but instead, I stand on the
ledge in front of the library
and watch her eyes sparkling
beneath the streetlights
as the snow keeps coming down.