i wish i could
string my phrases
together with
a lace of
simplicity and
modesty.

but i am
complexed
by you.

i wonder
when you’ll realize,
the emptiness
of a bottle
doesn’t replace
the emptiness
you feel.

i held you
very carefully,
got scared,
and put you back
exactly
how i found you,
like a gun.

i spent the day with him.
i listened to him
talk about drugs for hours,
then let him **** me
till it hurt
to look at him.
i'm not in love,
i just lust for him
in a tired, quiet way.

we were on his porch
when i snuck away
for just a few minutes to
call you and say
to your voice mail:
"the sky's on fire.
it's orange, red and pink.
it's really something you should see."

and it's back to him
and his nicotine lips.
he's an old soul
he's a free spirit
he's creative and
he's slept with everyone i know.

i wish you were here.

i wanna sleep in
spend the weekend on my back
my bed is a grave

i will not be nice
i feel lousy all the time
i can't stand myself

your sharp jaw
your inordinate blush
the way you put yourself together.
if i could make dreams out of cold hands and dark tresses, you'd be my winter palace.
but when all of this is over,
when the sky lays dark and stormy,
i will run.
i will run home with no shoes on,
pound my fists into the pavement
till they're black, blue, and ******.
i will hold them open for you and say
"this is it. these are the most vulnerable parts of me,
and this is what i'm trying to give to you."
i will scream my own name
into your mouth
just to hear the echo in your chest.
it feels like you've tied my hands behind my back,
sucker punched me in the nose,
and i'm spitting out, "thank you,
thank you. this is all i want."

i can only
think about you
in sad, short gasps.