the warmth of the sun
butter in my eyes
a shuddered relief
with everyone of your sighs

the passion of the sun
flames that swallow
burn me from the inside
and leave me hollow

the birds stopped singing some time ago and
i can't remember when they stopped but
that seems to be the pattern these
days and there's a candle lit that's
sitting precariously on the
corner of my bed and
somewhere in my
mind i hope that
something will
catch on fire
and this
**** hole
will
burn

d
o
w
n

i have always struggled with physical touch

perhaps its because
i received too much
all at once
and never quite understood
what i was being given

perhaps its a million other reasons
but it is too difficult
to understand the past
so for now I'm stuck with
my present longing
for some kind of touch
that doesn't make my skin crawl

tiny cracks in the pavement
what flowers will bloom today?
wilted and glorious and good
i walk on them with purpose
flowers are not meant for the street
they are for flickering candles
and whispering fields
and all the other things
i know nothing about

the others weep
at a ****** of daisies
but i will not

they are nothing to me

There is something wrong about
The way i breathe
The way my lungs fill
The way the air leaves

There is something wrong about
The way we kiss
The way your eyes roll
The way i choke on this

The atmosphere tastes sour
Like a papercut
and
The taste on your tongue
Isn’t foreign
But that doesn’t mean it’s welcome

There is something heavy about
The way you’re numb
The way you’re ******
So you can be with someone

i don't mean to scare you, but i think that somewhere along the way, i fell in love with you. something caught my eye and it was like a fire in my limbs. you bit your lip and ran your palms over your thighs, dripping gasoline over my skin like i was an old mustang with ****** gas mileage.

i'm sorry that i still can't tell you i love you. i want you to warm my ice in the palms of your hands, but i don't think i'm cold enough to ask you yet. i don't mind sitting here in the snow, even though i left my leather jacket in your room.

i like making you smile. and i hate it when people blush. i hate it, i promise. i don't know what to do when scarlet crawls over their cheeks and down their necks and i have to imagine it drifting across their chests. but now you've set heat all over my skin and there's a thrill when you touch my hands and all of this has got me revving but there's nowhere to put my right foot. what am i supposed to do with that?

i'm constantly imagining what it'd feel like to know you. i watch the way the glow of the fireworks makes your skin look red and green and purple, and i wonder what your hands would feel like on my hips with no fabric to separate us, and i imagine telling you i love you over a picnic lunch of whiskey and spilled red hair dye.

because i hate this feeling of two-ness. sleeping next to you and running my fingers through your hair isn't enough when you smell so warm and i am so so cold.

you left my heart out in the rain. it's your responsibility to warm it by your fire.

i hate the clichés just as much as you, but you have to believe me when i say that there's fire in me, and it's burning hotter for you than for anything i've loved before.

when you found me in that used car lot i was already scratched up, and now i'm bursting into flames on the side of the road

and you're walking away like you always knew this would happen.

the first time i walked across the golden gate bridge
i was too young to appreciate it
and too old to hold my sister’s hand.
now i read about the people who throw themselves off it
and imagine the universes hidden in each person’s head.

i’m not afraid of the things that go bump in the night.

once, a turkey bit my sister.
i have read more romance novels than i can count.
i have taped bandages over cat scratches,
and i have given important words to unimportant people.

i once taught a little kid how to spell assassin.
i have lived in eight different houses but never felt at home.
i’ve kissed boys,
and i’ve kissed girls.
i thought i was in love once.
i liked squirrels until i got too close to one.

i’ve avoided the south.
i’ve walked three extra blocks just to avoid a church.
and i have been burned at the stake.
i’ve felt flames on my thighs and ropes on my wrists,
and i’ve walked away with scars.
and, in the winter,
i’ve jumped into more rivers than i can count.

i lost my sense of humor this year.
i lost the little kid,
but i still cry when i spill my coffee.

once, i had rabbits.
i was eight when i found them
near the compost pile
laying in a puddle of blood.
when i was five i was nearly trampled by cows.
when i was seven, i almost drowned.

but i still breathe.
i still paint my nails black and sleep without resting.
i still bite my lips till they bleed,
and sometimes i wonder what i’ll look like with white hair.
i wear suspenders every chance i get,
and i try to shut doors quietly.

i will drink sweet coffee every morning until my heart stops beating.
i’m still waking up, though.

you didn't even tell your real name
what a shame
I have to leave

crawling inside your bones
I have no where else to go

tear drops
on your hands

it's nice to see you're still alive
will you ever let me hold you

die alone
I won't die with you

thinking about confessing my sins
find a pure soul

I'll leave
if you tell me to go

there's nothing more
you only told me sad stories

let me read
when you were young and happy