i am happy
i think i'm in love.

i eat cheetos
he'll say i'm a slob.
i should just *******.

i am sleepy and
i'm inconsolable
i like nothing.



you're uncontrollable.

i traced the outline of the
bug bites on my knees,
while your insecurities
floated by in my memories.

it was about 100 degrees.
humid air hanging on our skin,
so freshly destroyed and
rotting out like
some kind of disease.

i traced the outline of the
stars in the sky,
tried to figure out which way
the sun would rise.
i never knew much about astronomy,
but enough to know you never
deserved an apology.

oh sweet babies,
so young and naive.
can you see the destruction?

water bottles and
screws, rusting with the
damaged and rotten

your childhood pictures in the mud,
sprawled out with memories
now they lay with the dead
and forgotten

oh sweet babies,
so tired and sweet.
climbing on tree bark
and playing in the
dark.

oh sweet babies
don't look anywhere else

hot iron,
wax, melting
inside my mouth.
tongue tastes like
a microscope. dry like
a wasteland inside my mind.

twelve o'clock
strikes at the stroke
of one, one o'clock
at the strike of two.

the train has already left.
unless it hasn't. time
doesn't move in silence.
it moves according to
the way of the cosmos.

i don't care
if you don't care
i don't mind
if you don't mind
i don't see
what's wrong
with what i might find...
if i don't find you.

where are you?
are you hiding?
are you playing with fire?
with the flower beds?
with all your friends?
are you playing dead
somewhere? should i
even say a prayer?

i don't care,
if you don't care.
where are you?


somewhere
out there.

wrapped in satin,
under a thousand rocks,
under a million rocks,
under a black, silky,
unkept bed. he sits awaiting
a resilient retriever,
discounting all of the
grievances that could ever
fill up the coal colored
sky.
graciously, she descends
from the moss ridden
earth, an organic type
of rescue only to recieve
a murky tinged breed of man.

burnt skins smells like
ashes from the chimney
during winter and the
toaster oven sighs.
so do i. my bagel is crisp,
maybe even posionious,
but i eat it anyway. like i always
do. second degree burns never
kept me from the next day.
callouses and bruises thread up
the calves of your legs. you pretend
it's not there but i know. my boyfriend
likes to come home past ten. but i know
he is always late, always exaggerating
the circumstances we like to live within,
and somehow we can never pierce it,
like artificial skin.