there is a boy who smells like crushed up pills
who licks his lips when he thinks hard
and holds his hands in the pockets of his
blue windbreaker.
he is the kind of person with the kind of mind
that you wish you could read; you want to
delicately crack open his skull and reveal the
contents written in its folds.
you want to know what is written on the crumpled up
slips of graph paper that he carries in his jacket pockets.
you want to know why he is and why you are and
what mess of universal ties somehow connect you.

alcohol poisoning in the parking lot
and cigarette ashes on the concrete.
you had burn holes in your tee shirt and
she had lipstick on her neck and
we ran around under purple lights;
our skin stained with artificial pigments.
you had sweat dripping down your face and
her nail polish was chipped.
a girl sat alone on a bench
and shook so furiously that she scolded her finger
while trying to light up her third consecutive cigarette
and a boy washed the blood from the corners of his mouth
with a half-full bottle of whiskey.
you had her all over your skin and
she had too much to drink.

you grabbed my hand like it was
your only saving grace,
and you held me in your arms
as if i was the only thing
keeping you afloat.
the carnival lights shone
brightly above,
and the cloud-masked sunset
waved goodbye on the horizon,
bidding us adieu,
farewell until next time.
waves lapped at our feet
as we lapped at each other
and the wind in our hair
must have mixed up our atoms;
that summer night when we became
a beautiful cacophony of half-broken hearts,
tearing each other’s flesh with our
desperate and greedy hands
and popping pink and purple blood vessels
between our canines and incisors.
sleeping in my bed
could never compare to the comfort
and safety i indulge in when cradled
in your arms,
and the sweetest of songs dulls in
comparison to the rhythm of your
breathing.

she is a piece of art
that you do not understand
until you look at it
for a long time,
or in a different light.
she is a song
that you can not quite
make out the words to
until you take the time
to read them once or twice.

do I need to be burdened
to make the words flow?
do I need
a weight on my shoulders
to push poetry from
my pores?

You felt my pain
and I felt yours.
From clumsy lovers
to the closest of friends,
we helped each other
settle in our skin.
I told you
that you would go far
and you said the same to me,
but now I wish
you would have stayed.

in a fast food parking lot
you gave me liquid fire
that torched my insides
and singed my lips.
on the dark side
of a concert venue
you lit up a stick
that burned my throat
and engulfed my lungs
with flames.
we drank to the bottom
and smoked to the ****.
on the sidewalk
with yellow pills
and crumpled dollar bills
we talked about
how we were going to
get out of this town
and camp out
on rooftops
and in backyards
and in pick-up truck beds.
skipping meals
and saving up
we watched our worries
cascade to the ground;
dancing, intertwining themselves
with ash and ember.
we draw constellations
on our hands and on our feet
and on our hearts,
until the day we
get to chase them
away from here.