your neck-
it smells like home
oh and your collar bones-
they ask where i've been
every time i climb inside your skin
your lips-
they were my first sin

i'm coming back
to the city that raised us
but there's just no way
i can ever be a part of you
in as many ways as i want to

and i've noticed that
every receipt
from every place
we went to together
has a poem scribbled
on the back of it

i guess you just
made me feel
like writing

Like a bird
That crashes into a window,
I am confused and lost.
Like a stray duckling
Who can't find his mother,
I am scared and desperate.
Like a memory
lost in time ,
I am forgotten and fading.
Like someone
Stuck in their mind,
I am angry and hopeless.
Like a bird
That crashes into a window .

It's 12 am-
Insects explode into a vast harmony.
It's 12:30-
I'm in your arms,
You kiss me like you mean no harm.
It's 1 o'clock-
The clock begins to tick,
When summer ends,
Will we end like this?
It's 1:30-
And we're settled beneath the stars
Entertaining the idea,
That our dreams aren't that far.
It's 2 o'clock-
And you talk of her,
It's that type of love ,
I was wishing for.
It's 2:30-
And your lips crash upon mine,
I wish I could pause the track,
Hit rewind.
It's 3 am-
And I clutch your hand,
pulling you closer,
i can almost see land.
It's 3:30-
And the stars are gone,
Space ****** them up,
Just as you did my fears.
It's 4 am-
And it's getting cold,
The night mimics a part of my soul.
It's 4:30-
And time is depleting,
My heart starts to race,
Can you feel it's beating?
It's 5 am-
And we part ways,
I head off into a vast corn maze.
It's 5:30-
And I'm in my bed,
And my mind ponders over the things you said.
It's 6 o'clock -
And I'm feeling dead,
Time ran out
And you can't take back the things that weren't said.

It breaks my heart that women are assaulted in every country
like, I wish I could attribute it to one bad thing
I wish I could blame it on America or the economy or bubonic plague
I wish it only stung like hot coffee on her tongue
I wish **** were an ocean I could drain the water out of
but some people just think others should be put in a brown bag.

Limbs, limbs, limbs. Are we all just body parts
attached by tendons and cursed by muscles that mothball when we
need to cut the eyeball sockets of someone who wants
to mince clavicles, button noses, great big hearty belly giggles?

Every memory is sorry and starry, every piece of her *****
and I just want to blame it on one
******* bad thing, I want something so disgusting to make sense.

And in that moment,
          inhaling the pleasant mix of
          lingering cologne and
          cheap alcohol
when we became statues,
          ear to chest
          hand to back
          enveloping skeletons
unable to move,
          one more breath
          two
          three
          eternity
I found my home.

But I'm not your *"Sweet Home"