sink beneath my typeface.
the words were never my own,
but something you ****** into me
the night you took me home.
maybe i found some meaning
hidden underneath
mountains of blue sweaters
in your closet floor…
but wait,
the sentence escaped.
you drew my hand to your lips
and whispered something within,
something without,
something i could not pronounce.
i can only speak on paper,
but it is your fingertips that move.

this constant longing,
this constant dread,
the bed rises
to meet the dead.
the road rises
to meet the bed.
the sun rises
to meet the road.
i fall asleep
as the sun
rises.
and i know i know i know i know i know
i know i know i know i know i know
life has to go on.
there has to be something,
there has to be more.
so many places,
in my dreams,
they seem
to destroy me,
it’s all i want…
escape from this
hell hole.
so much longing,
constantly,
to be something more than
who i see,
to see somewhere more than
where i’ve been.
the bed rises
as i fall,
i fall into the deep,
constant dread
covering my feet
as they drag
through the night
into my room,
my bed,
where the sun never
rises.

i can’t escape it.
five years, i haven’t come close.
always pushing at the edges,
enveloped in the amniotic waves.
shouldn’t this period of growth-
or self-inflicted solitude -
or restful anxiety days...
shouldn’t it have concluded,
bearing some great swollen fruit?
summer has already risen over the horizon
five times
five winters, falls, and springs.
still i’m the same.

i can’t escape.
chilling blue eyes still sail
over turbulent synapses.
literally forty since
that i have kissed,
i never even kissed you.
still, you are the only spark
relampago del catatumbo
an eternal lightning storm
as i curl under a rock
slowly attempting to crawl
to the safe-zone.

i can’t escape it.
unfurling my shriveled wings
i can’t help but glare at the light
reflecting off of silver rims,
a careless smile.
you never knew.

i can already tell
your fingers will
wash over me
like the sea.
the storm won’t be easy
my tiny vessel will submerge
into depths of cerulean
mermaids won’t sing to me
they’ll howl in my ears
as the current pulls me
in all directions.
the storm will not cease
until i am a wreckage.
what does this say of me,
as a sailor,
to steer my ship
into the abyss
nevertheless?

i should have known better.
isn’t it always a boy with sparkling eyes
and a mischievous grin?
one whose hands on my waist
feel like Christmas
and his fingers slice holes
into my bare chest.
i should have been prepared.
i’ve been here before.
i should have anticipated the collapse
and taken my fragile heart
to put in its cage
upon the windowsill.
i should have listened
to the voice in my ear,
telling me beautiful words,
and recognized the tone
of deception.
maybe i did.
was it worth it once again,
to be lying on the bathroom mat
praying for it to end?

you’re terrifying-
the way you look at me
like there is nothing
else in the world to look at,
the way you smile
and it wrinkles around
your eyes,
the way you took my
hands in yours
and pulled me closer
until there was no space
in between,
the way you kissed me
and i felt it
throughout my body.

you sent me a letter
last july
before you proposed.
i cannot forget
the words you wrote.
i’m happy, she’s great.
but there it was
between the lines on the page,
the ink had bled, a smear…
i think you shed a tear…
the longer i read,
the more it became clear.
i did not reply.
the pain gripped my chest.
for weeks, i could not rest.
i think i’ll ask her to marry.
why the hell would you say that to me…
if you had not hoped i would stop you?
i realized much too late.
you were married this may.