a dream in which
i finally was enveloped in your arms again
being held tightly
the dreams are getting more frequent
with the idea that my one chance to see you this year
will be ripped away from me
i want to write songs with you again
i want to see your perfect smile
and listen to you talk about
your anxieties with me like i'm an old friend
why must you live so far
why must we be years apart

i miss you

my love,
    my light
look at you
           those eyes of purity
                                 and trust
         that wrap around my mind like a blanket
oh, to feel your hands
              interlocked with mine
  
my dearest, my dearest, my dearest

my love

your filthy hands
           gripped on my jaw,
your grimy fingers
                      forcing my mouth open
                            treated like a dog who won't let go of a shoe
                       defiled
                  ruined
dehumanized

don't go outside
      dare you step outside of your dwelling
      you will fall victim to the pandemic
      it will take your freedom
stay inside, stay inside, stay inside
      foolish are you if you so choose to venture to the market
      everywhere you go feels abandoned
      all the shelves are emptied of things that were previously
      overstocked...
don't
    go
       outside

do you see them?
       do you see my words?
do you?
          can you see?
                       say something
                                     look at my words
s
    a
y
                     s
                  o
                       m
                            e
                                t
                           h
                      i
                   n
                        g

i’d like to feel alive
　　　　　when was the last time
you really felt alive?
　　　　　the last time i felt pain was
this morning when i
　　　　brushed my teeth until
my gums bled
　　　maybe i’ll stick needles in my skin
to feel something
　　　　　　something
to imitate the addictingly horrible pain
　　　　　　　　　　　　　of a lover’s touch

oh, the wind
           it knocks now on
         my sliding glass door
     the same door that causes me to lay awake at night
         the knocking, i don't like it
                                     no, not one bit

is it the wind?
           or is he back?                               has he found me?
                                          is he going to hurt me again?

          i                  the
                 fear        
                                        wind

i was
    a little lamb
               and you were
                      a wolf in sheep's clothing
and when i trusted you
         you tore off your wool
                 and dug your claws
                                  into my flesh

my fault
“well, what were you wearing?”
my fault
“did you not fight back?”
my fault
“you should have screamed"
my fault
"why did you wait to tell anyone?"
my fault
"it just means he thought you were pretty"
my fault
     my fault
           my fault
                 my fault
                       my fault
                             YOUR FAULT.

oh dear
    it seems that i've
lost track of time again
              the days are far and few between
    oh dear, oh dear
                       the minutes have melted together
          so have the hours
                                 i see no difference between
                    a week
                                     a month
                                                          or a year
it is all slow
                       i'm aging yet i feel
                                                       just like i did yesterday
           my watch must be broken

bodies starting
            to lose shape
                      blurry smiles
                              without a name
                                      the person in mirror,
                                                they are looking strange
                                                        i'm sorry that i don’t remember

                                                            identities just
                                            seem to fade

god, *******
           i ******* despise you
                          pure ****.
       **** of the ******* earth.
do you understand?
               will you ever
                       understand?
                             the longevity of the pain
            that you've inflicted on me?
when you put your
           filthy
               unwelcomed
                          hands on me
        i want to tear away
the flesh
       and skin
                 where you gripped me
                                    

                          *******.

****.
are you uncomfortable?
                 tell me
                         do you feel sick?
****.
i will say it
        over and over again
                    each time louder
                                and more angry than the last
****.
repeating, repeating, repeating
                                 until you decide to
                                                    take action
                                                            and stop blaming the victim
****.
does it scare you?
            do something about it
                       scream about how enraged
                                          you are that this is even an issue

something he stole
      was very important to me
                but it’s not the kind of thing
that could ever be returned
         this is no game of
   lost and found
       oh, but the thief
                        the thief―
they couldn’t catch him,
            he’s got
               sly talk and
i think he’s part snake
          they couldn’t catch him because
he left no fingerprints

that feeling you get
              when you’re on the tube and you’ve got
that song blasting in your cheap earphones
            you stare out the window, not that there’s anything to look at
     just a blurry wall
                you think yourself to be some sort of
cinematic genius in these moments
              you watch yourself in something of a movie
                       where you’re the director, the star, and the writer
       it’s emotional and perfect
             like a stupid ******* indie music video
                  for the song you love that nobody knows

the putrid smell of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey breath feels like home.
           His arms felt like home, too.
      I knew him as the boy who’d party all night and make plans with me the next day only to sleep the whole time.
              I knew him as ****** noses from ******* and the young emphysemic cough that would **** a small part of me every time I heard it.
     I knew him as that big, stupid ******* smile.
I knew him as the boy who’d ride his bike to my house but would always be too worn out to ride his bike with me.
          I knew him as far too charming for his own good.
I knew him as perfectly imperfect.
       I know him as cold and unempathetic.
I know him as the boy who refused to get on the phone with me for closure.
     I know him as unstable.
I know him as manipulative.
      I know myself as someone who will never be more important than *******.
I know myself as someone who will never be more important than cigarettes.
     I know myself as just another doll who was tossed to the side by a child who got bored.
     The fetor of a coffin nail and the acidic aroma of Highlands Red still reminds me of him—
                 but only the version of him that I knew.