I smash open my skull and pry apart my frontal lobe ,
so I could forget how your smile made me felt.

I pull my teeth out with a pair of rusty pliers,
to make me forget the taste your tongue left me.

I tear my fingernails off and replace them with sharpened glass between the ripped flesh,
to forget the tender sweet touch from your hands.

I gorge my eyes out,
so I can forget how you used to look as you slept.

I stab my ear canals with scissors,
to forget the sound of you laughing.

I plug my nose up with mothballs,
so I forget how your clothes smelt when I wore them.

I peel off my skin piece by piece
to forget how soft your skin was.

I can’t forget.

Snow isn't pretty.

Snow just shows what you’ve could of been;

pure, clear, clean and untouched,

and eventually gone.

You’re the snow in populated areas.

*****, sludgy, and walked upon by everyone.

You make people slip and crack their heads open.

To be drained into the polluted river

and become the grimy water he drinks from the tap

and the bitter aftertaste that lingers.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.