The first time I saw him in 2 years all I could manage to choke out was "where do you stay" and "I'll pay you as soon as i can"
I dreamt of him that night. I dreamt of dew covering the ground, chlorine, and dead things. Dreams of sugarplum fairies danced around my head.
You know, they say "relit cigarettes never taste the same and that's all I've got to say about rekindling old flames" but I imagine you would taste like the last time I kissed you- salty.
Because as soon as our lips touched I started to cry. Because I knew it would be the last time. Because we were too young. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be with you again.
I wish I could roll you into a joint and get high off you. I wish you didn't talk like one of the bad guys, like a gangster.
I wish you never learned what it was like to be without me.

I was fifteen when you were sixteen, I knew you were trouble and that's what I liked about you.
My mother would hate it.. but we always got away with doing bad things.
Sneaking alcohol and stumbling down traintracks.
Tell me why I couldn't know you now? You don't exist in my world anymore.. your cashmere skin and eyes the color of some burnt thing. But yet so alive.
We would ride around in your mother's car, smoking *** like we shouldn't be..
Out after midnight like we shouldn't be...
having ***.. like we shouldn't be.
But we didn't care because as long as it feels right, do it, eh?
And oh did it feel right. I think you'll always be a memory to me.
One of the best memories.
The only memory I need, the only memory I have of you is warm summer thunderstorms and mischief. What did we know?
We were only in tenth grade... but like my mother says,
"you think you have it all figured out".


Maybe we did.

What happens when the narcissist
falls in love with the sociopath?

Sometimes before the sun comes up,
I like to disappear.
You won't catch me sleeping peacefully in a bed beside a boy I love,
because I simply can't.
I sink myself into the mountains before the dew even sets on the ground.
As I go higher up, I know I will eventually disappear into the fog.
If you are looking for me, you will not find me
because i am learning the art of

how to disappear c o m p l e t e l y

Loving him was like a warm gust of wind during the summer, blowing your hair back and whispering past your ears.
It was like apple orchards and abandoned shacks,
crisp white sheets stained crimson red by a nose bleed,
the carpet burn on my knees,
the lights, camera, action.
The flash, the flame.
Loving him was like broken glass digging into the soles of your feet,
like clenched fists and bruised bones,
hot breath and dialated eyes.
Loving him was like acid settling into my spine.
Loving him was a breath of fresh air that turned into lung cancer.

If I was to write about her I would write about her skin-- how it was the color and texture of cashmere,
or how her eyes were deep and dark like the universe,
pupils like black holes in the very center.
I could write about her wild personality,
or all those summer nights we stayed up until the sun came up and scolded us for the bags under our eyes.
But this isn't a love poem, you see
when I was sixteen I went crazy.
I fell down the rabbit hole and landed hard against the cold asphalt at the bottom.
I fell in love with a girl but just for a little while, because eventually it became increasingly evident that she and I were two different breeds.
But for that brief moment as I stripped my clothes off for them-- her boyfriend and her--
I came alive under the blue fluorescent lights.
We bonded through three things-- ***, alcohol and drugs.
And now every time I kiss a bottle or hit a ****

I think of her

You can find me under a bridge, with a needle in my arm,
or at the bars where old men slide their hand up my thigh and I am pretending not to like it.
I like to play games like "which one of my boyfriend's brothers can I turn on the most" or "how many girls can I kiss in one night"
Usually the answers are -- all of them and the most I've gotten is 6