how long does it take to drown?
tumultuous and predictable
does it hurt?
i don’t know where she begins and ends.
you’re good with kids,
but i think you’re being impulsive.
you should think about staying here.
think about the beauty,
amex black cards,
and impeding lateness.
you would think about
becoming something else.
i bet you’re going to be homeless,
or a dream that never existed,
just like a sick scam,
and then die.

which then,
means your little darling
will dissolve.

In 1948 I was twelve years old and I thought I wanted to be  
alone.

In 1948 I was sick.
At least that is what my mother told me.
She said I saw things that weren’t there.  
Like the sun in the bathroom  
at midnight. She said my little friends
in the feathered grass weren’t real.

In 1948, I think I was infected.
Sometimes I dreamed about things
I know I shouldn’t. I’m not allowed  
to talk about it. If I could, I would run away
out West. There are cornfields there. And nothing.
I think I want a whole lot of  
nothing. And corn.

In 1948 I spent the summer
In Maine with my mom
and stepfather.
I was alone most of the time
in the field. My house in the distance
spun in circles, and I dreamed  
about not being in Maine with my mom  
and stepfather.

In 1948 I was right.
Everything is real. I still have to keep my eyes open  
when I fall asleep because I know the bookshelf
Talks to me at night, the stairs  
always spiral in and out of view,  
and my friends in the grass were real.
They still speak to me  
inside my head.  

In 1948, I was twelve.  
All I wanted was to be alone.

you have to walk down the hallway
like it's an abandoned runway

(only if you want to feel better about yourself)

smile at people who
don't want to be smiled at

you have keep it together
make the bed and kiss him goodbye

you will say you're sorry even if you're not
say you mean it even if you don't

you'll pick up the clothes from the floor
put them in the washing machine
dry them fold them and stuff them
down your throat

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.