There
You stand at my door
Banging on the screen
Same rhythm as your fists
On the front
Two months back

I kept telling you to leave
But you put your phone to the eye
And it said
"This is just a misunderstanding"
I know
I know
It's all just a misunderstanding
It always was
Always will be
I want to pour gasoline and watch it
Drip down the screen

The sound the door makes
When it hesitates to close
Mimicking the rattle of a snake
Or the rainstorm of maracas
My stomach dropping
You tearing through that screen
Reaching for the door ****

I run to the back
But there you are
Behind the glass
In front of me
Reaching for my neck
I clasp my eyes shut

Please dear

Be quick

What trembles besides my knees?
Do my feet hang off the bed on the right side
or
Does my face just continue to dry until
It flakes skin
Until I am nothing but dust


It's just hysterical
that this which is tearing and sowing
breaks me so so gently it bores me to death
in the first five minutes
and I wait and wait and wait
for those imprints to turn yellow and then to blue
and eventually disappear under the guise of smoke and quiet resentment
or another's palm grasping at my ankles
spilt mother's milk
cracks in the floorboards
cherry lozenge cracking under tongue


Knuckles stiffen and clumps of hair stick to the shower walls
My thighs fill with cracks angry and red running up but suddenly stopping at my most precious commodity
the price to my body's worth
it tears tags off of old mattresses
and sits in bath water too hot
runs and breathes life into a humid motel room

I receive my checks in the mail
signed with red ink and no return address

I laugh indoors
Like the sound of lullabies on Saturday night
Drowning in liquor
Seeping into my eardrums
Leaking through the bedsheets

I hold my breast in one hand
And my eyes in the other
Trying to maneuver the small talk I had wanted to abandon
Over dinner
Last week, or
Was it last month?

Maybe a year back.

It all comes crashing down
I swore to you that I was honest
That I did not need more than my daily bread
You pour wine down my throat
And grab my wrist as you twist my words
So I go up those stairs
And out of your life
And I hold my breath
So one day you won't have to


I was born and thrown into the deep end
Ankles twisting and cork heels breaking
Mascara running
Lipstick smears on your collar
Fear manifesting within the buttons on my shirt
As you pop each one onto the floor

To sleep perchance
To be awake
It isn't long until my back is in the grass
And my knees are red
From trying to grasp the need for all of it

Leave it be


I'm 15 and you're all but a fever dream.

today
it was 70 degrees in the afternoon
i closed my eyes and pretended that there was a foot of snow on the ground
wrapped my arms around myself for warmth and shivered
i had attempted to remember how the year has taken and split me
into two

the one that was lying on that hospital bed
begging god for mercy
and the other that was drunk in the waiting room
laughter echoing down the halls
smelling like clorox
pouring whiskey down people's shirts

the one that had felt stung and with aching bones
let it go into a river of tears
or the other that took off her apron
told you to *******
and stormed outside
hoping the mascara was waterproof


the one terrified to drive
into the desert alone
the other pouring gasoline
down the highway
taking the wrong trail
talking to strangers at cafes
panic attacks in a wal-mart parking lot
knowing the importance of goodbyes
and deodorant
loving your touch but hating your voice
yet falling for the way
her bones shift beneath her collar  
hands clamming up at the sight of him
letting calves burn and peel
breaking corks for expensive chardonnay
striking the match
letting it fall

feeling the drops on her shoulder

Holding your face in my hands
I remembered how it felt
To have the desert sun on my shoulders
And the cold ocean water at my calves

There was a small stillness in your eyes
And I didn't know if it was hot water
On the burn
Or the cold
That hurt me more
When I needed it to be temperate

I swear to the god of my nostalgia
That I'm addicted to the forbidden
That I shirk rules even if I create them
That I awake in the middle of the night
Thinking that the shadows on the dining room walls
Are echoes of alcoholism
That linger in the pit of my stomach
Even when I'm sober


And even now when dusk has just begun
I reach for the sun
Like a drunk reaches for a double
Like a child reaching for the mother
Like the long legs of some model tangled in the sheets
My love throws itself into the shallows

And drowns all the same

The promise
of emptiness
Is no reward for
the miles you
Walked
on daggers.

13.00 was written on the tip line
the total was 68
you told me I was rude
for making sure to ask
if that made 20 percent
and that we made sure
our waiter knew
that at least one of us here
gave a **** about their pain

gripping the door handle so tightly
I felt like throwing myself onto the beltway
would've been less dangerous than trying to calm you
or thinking
of just closing my eyes and screaming
just screaming
so maybe you would've crashed into the shoulder
and finally stopped talking


outside with your cigarette
I felt my heels dig into the cracks in the asphalt
and I felt ethereal and tangible
the night held me at the waist
and stroked my hair
whispering lilac words
and scarlet promises
but you had to go
and put your lips on me
and opened your mouth again


on the hotel bed I sunk into
the silence and the hum of traffic
outside of the window
I thought about how your fingers felt
helping me zip up my dress
and how those hands
haven't once touched me
in ways
that should've killed me by now


but you didn't need them
because when I close my eyes these days
I have to think about breathing
and all I can see are my mother's arms
cradling and
covered in blood
and the way the trees decided to match
the color of my cat's fur
on the same week he departed
and then turned to red and fell
back down on the asphalt

and I remember when I looked at you
and saw yellows and orange and pinks
but they were just glints of fond memories
like the reflection of vegas lights shining in the desert
and off my reflection in the fountains
or my blistered feet padding along the wooden floor
towards the bed
naked and smelling of pisco
grasping to you
in the cold new york night
or of course the sunburnt twilight
up on griffith
holding on tightly to the rails but this time
with flight under my skin
soaring through the haze
and actually feeling the corners of my mouth
cramp from overuse


now all I see are street lamps
and the monochrome wrinkles
that line your eyes
your face a void
my hands firmly holding myself
trying so hard to escape again
i held for so long
and ripped my skin
piece by piece
for your ego
for your possession
for your trophy

but when it came to paying the bill
you were still
like always
about a dollar short