I hope you’re doing okay,
but from what I’ve heard,
I don’t think you’ll ever do well.

I heard you were wasted, puking
on *** that was shoplifted
by your friend. Your ***** smelled like
oranges and everyone took you home drunk
to your mom like it was their fault.

Because I remember when you were just cutting yourself
to escape the trauma of your mom beating you
and living with runaways. Your friends raised you,
but they’ve gone to college, and you’re left
with drunk driving drug dealing boyfriends

A couple summers ago you called me when
you lost your virginity in the bed of your
obsession’s truck and you thought you
would be pregnant and drank yourself
to sleep because you thought it was decent
birth control, even though he came on your back

didn’t see you for a couple of years and thought we lost touch
because we were broken down and giving up
and I thought if you could just find a place that didn’t
party or abuse their girlfriends that you could find
a place to be where you wouldn’t feel so numb

Way too long ago I remember stories of your friends
running away to Canada, being kidnapped
or arrested, sent to the emergency room
like when you tried to **** yourself over some boy
or because you hated your mom
or you thought you were too fat

when you’re trying to forget yourself
drinking cheap alcohol and skinny dipping
I hope that you won’t have to last as long
because you aren’t meant to be ******,
intoxicated or depressed, when that’s
all you’ll ever do.

self righteous, self published
sought out and backlash
sick of  black and white
pictures of **** women
and being taboo

and the only thing left in the house that’s interesting to see
is the moon through the window

but you came along
smashing my head against a windshield,
and the moment of collision
a weightless jolt

voices echoing through the cracks in the asphalt
gas leaks making me light heading and I’m hearing
little melodies in light bass tones

a gust of wind down the hill blows cracked leaves
between my boots and I feel as if I
was falling from a tree myself.

And you hit me again
thrusting over and over
pulling my skin off
in a delirium, where
I numb my mind and try to read
the story of your wall before you open your eyes again
or I watch your chest, wondering how quickly
your heart must be beating and how
my legs are soaked
wreaking of *** for the rest of the afternoon
before wandering back to my bed

sleepwalking to the beach, with images,
rapids, sediment ashtrays covered
in squatters,
voyagers trying to stay the night without
freezing to death because the residents
across the boardwalk wouldn’t trust a
tattered traveler with only enough possessions
to fit on his back.

reveries, savages, vagrants,
in dreams follow me in the woods
syndicating ****** schemes
to keep me on edge

the moon plays these motion pictures
and I consume myself every night
before the sun light.

with every hour of sleep I lose
there was the memory to choose
and thought you’re awake inside those walls
since you regained consciousness that fall
to think she’s awake in the room
speechless and gone to soon
a tear to shed
in the air bed
for her children, who live with fear
of losing ourselves, like we did that year

The night you would come home in pain
moaning for tylenol and scolding the rain
and all those years seem to fade
I’d give tomorrow for that decent trade
and the current that pulls us away
my only hope is to hear you say
that you’re sorry you couldn’t stay
but what we had was yesterday

There’s no hellos, no appointments or promises
just tiny little flashes and the weight on neck
dreams of hookers stitched down the middle
no more songs to play or memories from last year
faces so valuable fade

and I saw you again, and I thought that the wait
was finally over,
but there’s all of you
who obsess over her
and only empathize
yell about nothing
for the sake of sound

as if you’ll make any difference
like one person could make you
whole, or free
(or any person)

sick, exhausted
excuses to not think
or explain
and addicted to
skin you think is worthy
or euphoria, supposedly valid
all to do is decide
and skim

and you know,
just by seeing

and I wake up again
*****, desperate
wishing you would
stop
playing and stop lying
to yourself
when I was eaten by the sidewalk
I cried for hours
and the scar is still there
from a decade and a half
of picking

like the garden
near the border
with the vineyard
impossible to reach

dropping grapes in the gutter
and being called for dinner
wasting away on the carpet
waiting for honey to come home
to get back from the other side
sitting there, once again
watching the sun and the shadows
of the tree

back then

no hellos, no reservations
no promises
just the flashes of the sun through
the old coast curtains

and there you were again
smiling to hold me
before I woke up

It rained at the 7/11
and I strolled to the gas station
the thin blur that passes into my vision
and smiles

Coins for the cigarettes
trying to see your ID

from 1:20 to 2:10
to that roof
rolling your ******* joint
and listening to the pigs drive by

we walked to the bus stop
then to the walgreens
we found water at the school

warming your hand
before you walked me home
faces drenched in the rain
wishing to get back sane

it spends the day/ eating away
tearing through dreams/ soft decay

and you can’t strike or cry
five years burned my eyes dry

“It’s like we’re looking at a grave.”
“We should bury something that was once alive.”

“You want to **** a bird?”
“On this medication, yes.”