missing you is like
resisting the urge to shave my head

i miss home
it's to dry here
dirt caked
under my fingernails

but you're here

so i'll stand under the showerhead
a little longer
and pretend that it's rain

god was always just a pair of eyes
on a chipping billboard in the centre of it all

he either doesn't have hands
or doesn't use them
i guess i'll never really see exactly
what you meant

but i know he's never done anything but
stare

"i am so lame" i whisper to myself
after putting your flannel in the dryer
so that it would be as warm as it was when you gave it to me
fresh off your skin

your scent is waning, but i can still catch it
i wish i could hold it in my palms
because god knows it's my favourite smell in the world

i wear it until it get's cold again
but by then i'm already asleep

dreaming of you as i pretend you're holding me

my new years resolution
comes out more like a suicide note;
all languid lines and
lists that won't mean anything to the dead

i'd rather swallow it than keep it
i can live with a few scars

i looked into the abyss
so much weight and rot in my pockets
ready to meet the terror that made me
        
but the abyss looked back
so i stayed