he leaned over, breath hot against cool skin

and it didn't feel like fire, but it felt like a burn. and i closed my eyes, rapid moving things

nudging for an escape,

and thought i could hear heartbeats flooding my lungs

but from where wept, it sounded like anger.

and from where i heaved, it sounded like ripping flesh, like the slow drag of a zipper and the whip of an unfastening belt.

i could draw out the shape of him

without staring, without studying. he wanted me to remember.

& i remembered

It felt like fire then, and it burned like a flame and i opened my eyes, and kept them steady.

while, the train shook the house.

while these bones were cement things, laid out beside me.

don't cry, don't cry, my, darling, don't cry.

and for the most fragile moment,

swore his hands wound around my flesh, were there to mend me, not break me.

and for the briefest moment, i swore this was more than just

a broken body tapered to the mattress like a stain.

it wasnt raining, but it felt like it.

wait wait

the train is too loud and i feel like im being ****** right underneath

Wait

Like all flesh rubbed raw,

Everything stays a shade of pink

i knew what was meant
by the dark the sky held;
how it dozed
in and out of consciousness,
frugal attempts of
harboring continuance.

it spoke a language
only known by itself.
but it heard our breaths,
and ached to understand.

we were dressed
in the copper glow of sunset,
immune to the taste of *****
as it swaddled our throats
with heat,
and our lips,
reeking with scent
from a strangers tongue,
would neglect our eager sentences,
begging to be told.

burdened in the dark,
the sky still felt,
still watched with vacancy,
as the children below
traced and counted its freckles;
and it felt
surely then,
all at once

that it started to rain

i knew what was meant
by the dampness the grass cradled
how it sunk into my skin,
sharp like blades,
frugal attempts of
harboring continuance.

it spoke a language
only known by itself
but it felt our skin,
and ached to understand

there was a moment so fragile
so unentertained
that it was as though I was watching it -
watching you - from outside my body

boise, idaho
a humid apartment building,
november.
you sat there,
molded into the love seat,
eyes ablaze,
face giddy,
a girl cradled in your lap.

and i didn't see you
but i saw so much of you.

the room was screaming
with unfamiliar energy;
with fumes of smoke and apple pie,
as i sat,
pressed against the wall
& my first ever drink
clasped into my sweaty, shaky hand.

I stared for just a minute,
i watched you,
observed you,
as your hand swept
over the crevice of her arm,
your face, eager for warmth in her neck.

you looked like art,
like a structure,
filled with clay,
and sharpened with porcelain
on the edges.

you looked like art,
with golden cheeks,
contrasted against dark, doe-eyes
and i didn't want to stop looking,
i didn't.


july
7 months later
the roar of an engine
rumbles beneath my back.
i'm high,
& im watching the glow and flicker
of descending street lights
and i feel like i'm floating on a euphoric daydream that refuses to end.

that night,
there was a moment so fragile,
so un-entertained
when i looked into your eyes,
staring with secret intimacy,
that i swore i knew you.
not the simple parts of you,
but the important ones.

underneath you.
your body spoke a language into mine,
and we talked with our hands
with our tender gasps,
and constricted moans.
and tentatively,
while the fan rattled
and the bed shifted,
i shut my eyes and smiled.
because i knew that this was a moment,
i'd only get to appreciate
a few times in my life.
& it felt special,
knowing one could be with you.

adderal fantasies
to sober up the
alcohol tragedies

boys puking out their guts
in attempt of healing
all their mistrusts

the black sky hued with vibrant colors
while all the kids in the truck could do was holler

i sat in the grass
watching my friends helplessly harass,
and i felt such shame
because all i wanted to do
was take the blame

the 6th of july,
and my heart was on high.

black,
crested with water
beneath my sinking feet,
the sky is a shaking grey
filled with
fumes
from a saltwater tide;
while the sun lays a hollow,
swollen bleed
above my shut eyes.

i can taste the ocean,
i can hear the rising breaths
before they flow from up her lungs.
and in that moment,
the briefest, most fragile moment,
before her hands touch my skin,
I think i feel your ghost,
creeping up and soaking in.

her body wraps around my toes,
as the silence brings your voice.
harsh, in the wind,
i realize that you aren't gone,
you've embedded your soul into the
crisp blackness of her.
and so I breathe.
I swallow the air.
because no one really dies,
they just find something else to live
through.

spoken against the window pane,

your breath,

like flapping shingles of a roof in agony.



and,

tethered there in your hands,

inorganic flesh,

spews from open fingers -

curdled,

rotten.



you couldn’t look.



you couldn’t look.


this room is a cemetery.

this room holds only the dead.



in a brief moment,

the glass clears, the fog has lifted.



outside, bodies of decomposing trees

string their arms through the hairs of a setting sun,



and he,



he looks up at you with open eyes as the faucet drips,

the pipes creak,



the kettle, softens your futile screams with a thermal hiss.



how unbecoming of this boy,

exposing his insides with a lifeless heart in his chest.

my loneliness is killing me