orange soda, fizzy tongue,
creamsicle smiles.
we lived in sync, there,
with an ocean breathing
between us.
i would have swallowed
the sun if it could have
helped cool you down
but i wanted to burn
god, how i wanted to burn.

the story of the mechanic's hands that only knew how to break things
starts small and quiet


a feverish night in june
reaching out for the first time
in balled up fists
then palms opened to the world
in demand

then, pressing into linoleum
then, gripping the handlebars of a bicycle
then, wrapped around yellow number 2 pencils illuminated by fluorescent light bouncing off white brick walls

then, for many years, nothing but the cold metal of a rusty wrench

i said, i like your filth
teach me how to be grimey
you're only allowed to touch me with dirt underneath your fingernails
i said, i'm young but i know what it's like to be covered in black grease


these hands have touched many
held onto some
left none clean and pure, or easy on the eyes
in their calloused glory, lifting the pleated skirts
two parts of a whole that's only purpose was to destroy

i wonder in the time i have spent
hands under sink
body in bubble baths
fingers down my throat
purging a gasoline stained, black grease, mangled-with-wrenches childhood

were the mechanic's hands pressed together in prayer

did they ever get scrubbed clean?

Standing in a sea of people
As a lone island
Floating around
In the endless nothingness
Drifting away and drowning
Falling apart
And piecing yourself back together
Over and over
And over again
Every single second of the day
Wishing for it to all stop
Helplessly knowing
Nobody will ever hear
Your silent cries
...
Noone could ever save you
Because how could they
Ever save you
From yourself
...
It's hearing yourself talk
And move
And smile
Maybe even laugh
But knowing
It's all an act
With noone to yell "cut"
At the end of the scene..
Because your whole life
Has become a giant play,
Where there could be
A thousand people
And a thousand lights,
There could be a thousand claps
And a thousand great nights
Still all the while
You'd be a thousand times lonely
Drowning in the lights
Drowning in the laughter
Drowning in yourself
All because
You've become too good
At acting
Like you could swim
...
Depression is killing yourself
Slowly
Every day
Every minute
Every single second,
From the inside out
Because you don't know
Who you are anymore
Except for an empty body
Defining disappointment
And a burden
And a void of fake
All wrapped in one.
...
Depression is Loneliness
Depression is Acting
Depression is Drowning
But most of all,
Depression is Me.

i think i am spread across
c o n s t e l l a t i o n s
my heart on too many suns
to keep track now.
if home is where
your heart is then my home
is in missouri
so we keep begging the sky
to give us one day together,
tie bedsheets in a line headed
west and east like we're
going to stretch across the
atlantic one of these days.
i swear some mornings
when it's quiet i can hear
a buzzing inside my chest
and i've known for a while
it was you. but how do
i whisper that across a
static line, to your face as
small as the screen on my
phone? we deserve much
better moments than
we've been allowed.

i saw the good in all of your bad

i have been told that love is the hardest thing a human being can put themselves through.
******* i believe it

i never intended on falling for you. not this hard, this fast.
but here i am

i saw the good in your bad and i loved every ******* inch of you and maybe that is what lead to our downfall

i loved what could never work

I'm left here wondering how the hell i am suppose to move on when you were the only good thing that ever happened to me