sometimes, when i lay down in bed at night
i still think back to being 13 years old and
sitting in that lawn chair on your apartment balcony
and smoking a cigarette, listening to the song
"hospital" by lydia
and taking in the words
"i'll never ever leave there, i'll never leave."
i thought i wouldn't, at least.
nothing really mattered when
side walks and street lights at 11pm
and never being alone, always felt heavier
than anything else, in the best way,
and i miss that comfort.
you were the last thing i could honestly call home.
that means a lot when you can't remember
the last time someone meant to
touch you.


we like to think that we are
made of beautiful things until someday,
someone opens our mouth and
bats fly out and we realize
we’ve been empty
the whole time.

your mother used to
think of me as a street drug
but the bigger problem was
that she didn't treat you
like an addict and you
did not act like one.

your mother is gone now
and unable to see the real
street drugs you've been
hiding under your tongue
and in your pockets
but i'm sure she'd still
look at me as if i were
death itself.

the most memorable
first kiss i've ever had
was shared with you.
i leaned in, pressed
my lips against yours
and i put my hands on
your chest. you threw
your head back and
laughed like a God.
i've spent over a year
being confused as to
why you did that and
why you never explained.
i know now that it's because
you knew i was looking
for your heart and you
knew that you didn't have one.

unless she's given it back,
you still don't.