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

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.

my lips are torn to shreds
from trying not to let the
long overdue “I love you”
escape. the taste of blood
between my teeth reminds me

I’ll never know your mouth
as anything more than
my favorite work of art,
and you'll only ever know me
under the ancient tongue of
what we could’ve been

He wanted something
easier than you.
That is not to say
you are a challenge
or that she is cheap,
rather, that he is weak.

human hands
were made to be held.

the bleak reality
of that fact
is your hand will fit
just as perfectly in hers
as you used to say
it fit in mine.

the late moon
and sunlight
wear the shadows
of stars
behind the twilight