do not wait for me-
there is not time
today has gone
yet i am here
without breath
keening with fear

i am a grain, caught
in an hourglass
yet i am a collector-
hoarding lost hours
in the lining
of my pocket

i take them out rarely
they are old keys
their locks are long gone

do not wait for me
there is not time
do not wait for me
i am already gone

your heart was always out of reach
and mine was always in your hands
but if you listen closely
you can hear my ribs cracking
to the rhythm of your breathing
your grip tightens 
my heart screams 
you laugh
i beg
you lie
we fight
"do you think I'll cry?" I ask
"you know I'll try" you counter
the sky darkens as you smile
nothing unusual 
i think about when I paced my halls
at three in the morning on a sunday
and how it was just like when 
you pulled me underwater 
and it felt like I was breathing fire 
and suddenly you're talking about
when we first met
in that church parking lot
when it started something
that was anything but holy
and I laugh at the irony
it was better than any poetry
i could ever write 

[holyoak]

your love makes me want to eat my own flesh because i can't wash your fingerprints off my skin

i would've done anything for you
and i was like that jacket i bought for you
that you hung up and never wore again

you can't create a graveyard in my memories and not expect the biggest, boldest headstone and i'd rather chisel my eyes out than see your crooked teeth glaring at me and you know what? i'd wrap them in exquisite packaging and address it to you sincerely with a note attached that read "enclosed are all the visions i ever had of you and i"

i'd be like vincent van gogh
he had the right idea

i think my heart
grew strings
trying to forget you.

His broken body
crumbles
in your hands.

Life bleeding out
over your fingers,
until you aren’t sure

which of you
is
dying
faster.

i turn to face you,
having just had you
lolling in the sleeping afterglow
but you're not beside me
you're inside of me
hovering just centimeters over me
wrapping warm my body
in your silk blankets,
a heartbeat swaddled.
when did you start to love me so much?
weren't it just yesterday
you had me clinging to
ceramic tiles for any sense
of comfort while my
insides were spilling out?

i suppose i always
asked for a lover
as complicated as this.

if this was a poem
it would be total ****
because it doesn't rhyme
and there's no rhythm
and there are no answers