she feeds you stars
and you regurgitate them
up in her palms,
facing toward you

she's always holding them out

you tell yourself you
couldn't miss her;
you tell yourself she
wouldn't miss you
(and you're sure, but
that's not the point)

you tell yourself
that it doesn't matter
because for a second,
her black holes
were stars

don't be
surprised when i
float
up into the ceiling

(there's another
world
out there, there's
no other
world out there,
the rusty film,
the not touching,
the signal
flares you sent
with your teeth,
screaming
god,
is there a god?
and
He only laughed at
you,
open mouthed,
you found:
there's only
i am i am not
you am i am not)

i will become
a ghost
you can love,
then

i wish i could
pet the cat;
i can only
imagine her
fur,
now

i wish i could
kiss the top of her head
without gurgling
bleach; my teeth
would rot out of my head

yet
it'd be nice,
i think

your soulmate is a
  ghost
  and they are trying
  to connect
  with you
  through the mirror,
  floating through your
  halls
  at night moaning
  desperately,
  'come to me, come to
  me'

  your hands
  will not touch

  you will go on
  like this,
  lover after lover
  after cat after dog
  after loneliness

  until you yourself
  have died

i watched you take every piece of me and shove them into your mouth. simply put, i watched you devour me. my essence, my personality; all that was left was you, your hands, my hands like your hands around my own throat pretending they were your hands.

  i don't know what i mistook it for.

  i don't know how i could have.

  could you explain this to me? you, the crow on my window sill, watching me peck my eyes out with the corners of my fists (pretending it was you, it was you, it was you, pretending it was me pretending it was you) like i am mad, i am terribly, terribly crazy. i won't say hello to you; you can **** us both to hell.

  i poured my blood in a cup for you.

  does it make sense now?

  the way you held it with your black black nails clicking against the side, something awful like chalk on a chalkboard or maybe a marker on a chalkboard, it's all the same; in my head you're the bad one.

  i poured my blood in a cup for you and i watched you ****** it out of my hands and i watched you take the whole of me, my eyes, my ears, my brain, the pieces of grey matter that shouldn't be grey matter. you smashed the cup on the ground. it was a nice cup, what a waste.

  do you want a prize? do you want an award for pretending you weren't the bad one?

  (you're the bad one, i keep telling myself. you were bad. you were bad. am i bad? or at least share the blame, you know, we're both...)

  ask the people in the past who hurt you, who dug their nails into your skin and refused to let go and dug them in further until all that was left of you were the places their fingernails had been, tell me, report with your findings: am i bad? am i bad? (were you bad?)

like i am
me
and you are
you,
you are
also me
and i am
also
you

and if
i am afraid
i can
squeeze my
wrists
or strangle
myself
and remind
myself
that my
mannerisms
are
just like
hers

i'm quite sure that when you
  plunged your hands into my chest
  you did something
  bad
  to my heart

  i keep thinking
  maybe it's the paranoia
  but after you,
  after her,
  i can't love anyone

  (and i like it
  that way)

something along the lines of
  you'll leave me,
  won't you?
  is what i say to you

  which is
  unsurprising,
  given the circumstances for which
  this idea seems so completely
  appealing to me

(you'll leave me,
won't you?
you'll leave me,
eventually,
blah blah blah,
if you leave me
i'll **** myself,
blah blah blah

is it all the same
to you? do you think i
say this ****
for fun?)

how *******
blasphemous,
this idea that's so
absurd
to you;
do you so
constantly have your
head
up your *** or is it just me?
oh, wait, no

  i don't know
  what you want me to say

  do you want me
  to agree with you?
  you?
  you, of all people?

i got out of bed
  and all that was
  in my head was
  venom

  and all i could think of
  was breaking your
  phones

  so you couldn't call
  anyone,
  so you'd be
  isolated
  too

  so grandpa wouldn't
  know
  the inside of my brain
  so intimately

  because you don't
  shut up
  because i don't have
  any privacy
  because i am your
  pity party
  (because i'm crazy)

  so you'd have a
  reason
  to hate me

  (that was
  something i could
  control)

  but now
  all i can think of
  is the
  *******
  fear of
  abandonment

  and how all i do
  is sleep
  and spend two hours
  in the bathroom
  standing there
  eavesdropping
  staring at the wall
  wishing i was dead
  (wishing you were
  dead, too)

  and i want to
  break my hands
  (so i couldn't do it)

  and i want to
  break your phones
  (because you would
  hit me
  again, and i am
  scared
  you'll never stop)

sometimes
  i am afraid
  to wake up
  and find
  i am alone

  that
  while i was sleeping,
  they left

  that
  while i was sleeping,
  they ate my dog
  and left the
  mess
  for me

  (i don't need
  your love;
  i don't need
  your guidance:
  i can
  think for myself
  but it is
  painful,
  and
  i wish you would
  listen)

okay, but, bear with me here: if i stuck my hands in my mouth i wouldn’t be able to stop going. i’m quite sure i’d devour myself. it’s not romantic or pretty but in my head it’s the only way to quiet those ******* thoughts.

they’re eating me alive, and they forgot to chew.

(okay, but, bear with me here: they’re eating me alive. they didn’t even bring a fork or set down a handkerchief, and they’re talking with their mouths open, laughing about this one old lady they punched in the street. they’re real *****. they’re real pieces of work.)

hey, hey, hey, getting malevolent up in here; mind your ******* manners.

language, language, language, getting violent up in here, mind your ******* manners.

what’s it matter, what’s it matter? where was i obligated to be good? why do i ******* care? i’ll be dead soon. i’ll be dead soon. such a stupid thing to care about, such a useless thing. i’ll be dead soon.

(take your elbows off the table, shut your ******* mouth; you are a guest in the house that is my brain. push your chair in when you stand up, please.)

i know i must have
must be
from mars, must have
must be
must have come from
somewhere
special,
better, but decaying
and rotten, and upset:
this big angry
black 'i don't remember'
this big angry
white emptiness,
this big angry
'i don't remember'
this
'what and
who
are you?'

(i came from the
swamp,
i came from the
sky, i came from
the air, from the
fire:
i am everything
that people
aren't,
my teeth are
more like fangs)

i know there's
humanity,
somewhere
in my bones

i know i have
a home,
i know i have
a name
and a face,
but i can't
remember
what it is

(i am a
banshee,
i'm *******
screaming
and
somebody's
gonna die,
tonight)