Her black tongue between cracked lips
Slack-jawed by what is behind her eyelids
Malignant
A handful of shallow breaths every 60 seconds
Blood pressure plummets
Heart rate rises
Under water
She gurgles
Chokes
A cough

"It's just a cough, Heather. I’m okay.”

sitting on my bed
i have to ***
all the **** is gone
the screen is still blank
that stupid line blinks
i feel something
something powerful
but it won't come out
so i sit here looking
dumb
until i write a
****** poem about
how i can't write.

I stole a peek inside today,
and what peered back left me in dismay.

I myself, I must betray,
today I shot myself, and walked away.

this blank screen has been staring
at me for a while now
trying to coax out something
worth writing
but i simply have
nothing to say
at the moment

we both know
that is a lie
i'm just trying
to hide the fact
that my mind
is as empty
as the white that is
burning my eyeballs.

this girl,
this poor deluded
girl.

all the things she
almost said
stuck between her teeth.

the sweet i miss you's
and i love you's
hacking away enamel.

saccharine nothings
disintegrating molars
and canines.

as her teeth drop
from her head
she puts them in her pocket.

just as a little
reminder of the things
that almost were.

“The electron cloud model says that we cannot know exactly where an electron is at any given time, but the electrons are more likely to be in specific areas.”

He drives too fast
Trees blur like a fake Monet
Feet planted on the dash
Someone soaked my tongue in *****
Lined my mouth in velvet
And put me in a box playing Elton John
Moving too slow

Eyes shut, I dream of a linoleum floor
A black front door with a gold knocker
A friend, a dog, a tomato garden, a swing
A crystal placed in a window, creating color
A smell of lavender and thyme and sun
A mom and a dad and a home
Places I couldn’t wait to leave

Cold wood floor in the morning
A stark white door with a peephole
A lawyer, a moving truck, a wheeze, a fear
A stack of boxes, collecting dust
A trip to a hospital and a wedding and a job
A disease and a stepmom and a

He drives too fast

i sat up all night

watching cartoons

and smoking cigarettes

thinking about how much distance

i've put between myself and my childhood

and what a shame

it would be

to ever lose

my youth.

he sank the entire ship
just to **** his captain.

if he was red
then i was blue
together we made
the most beautiful
shade of purple

he was immersed in the hum-drum of everyday life,
his Mondays bleeding into his Tuesdays, just as it had for fifty-five years.
protected by his shining armor of ignorance,
he was untouchable.
what he didn't know, couldn't hurt him,
and what he did know, taught him that he didn't desire to know anymore.
he liked to sit behind his desk, and drink his coffee,
and read what he was told to read and type what he was told to type.
and every night, he would sit at the same bar,
quietly drinking his glass of Jack and Coke.
what he never noticed, however,
was that as his days bled, so did he.
and this is how a man died,
while his heart still beat to that familiar hum-drum.

your mouth tastes like all the sweet words
you did not mean
rotting between your teeth
gin on your breath
exhale
i take a shot
every stroke of you inside of me
is proof
i love the pain

soon enough
i'll grow out of spongebob squarepants
in exchange for sponge baths
and square framed reading glasses.

roses are red
violets are blue
you ******* *****

My friend, she drives down the road
She says the leaves droop down when
The rain is coming
She says the trees are far too still,
It'll be a nasty one

Myself, I listen to her
I think about you, the almighty
Storm
I think about me, pulling myself in,
Keeping my back to you
Shaped like the leaf

Your breath blows on the back of my neck while we sleep
And the knot in my gut is still

in being too selfless
the word is most literal
you give little things away
like your favorite sweater
or your special lighter
or your heart
and next thing you
know, everyone
owns you.

for the fifth final time
when i hear that clock chime
i will consider any thought of you a crime
and move
the **** on.

my body:
she sits with me under the cold water of the shower and wipes the tears from the lines under my eyes. she lifts me up and wraps her arms around me. she tucks me into bed at night and wakes me each morning, peeling off the comforter and sheets. she tells me i'll be okay, because my lungs still work and my heart still beats. she loves me when nobody else can.

i would prefer to sit
home alone
and read
the fountainhead
the catcher in rye
the metamorphosis
the stranger
i get drunk off plays on words
i get high off clever plots
what keeps me up at
night isn't money
or relationships
it's the fact that
there are so many
lovely books
that have yet to be
in my hands
it's overwhelming
i do not dream
of stacks of currency
or a lover by my side
i dream of paper
covered in ink
and the satisfying
feeling of turning pages

something must be
broken in that
area of broca's

i'd like my thoughts to
be immaculate but
it's rather hard to
articulate or decipher
my synapses' patterns
in a logical manner

the last frontier of my
subconscious somewhere
in here

but in uncharted
territory lies some kind
of fear.

the leaves on the sidewalk
were reduced to an organic
pulp of chlorophyll and cellulose
under the soles of passersby
who didn't even notice
how the ceaseless precipitation
had leeched out the pigments
from these lifeless cells
creating smears of
****** burgundy
that colored the sidewalk
like a toddler with chalk.

i could have been a mom this week
but i did that thing of which you
do not speak

we're all made of
the stuff in stars
and whatever is on mars
inside of you
is the same as dinosaur bones
and those pretty little stones

your energy
is universal

i was born an april's fool
   an aries's sun and a pisces's moon.

i like when
words speak for
themselves
and create
their own beat in your brain
i'm not one for fancy things
i like black ink
on white pages
and sentences that are so
well calculated that they
seem effortless

idiosyncrasy is synonymous with idiotic
while dc is now despotic and chaotic.
personality is peculiar, exotic.
sinful to be ****** or
slip yourself a narcotic.
the world is robotic,
i am astronautic,
i am quixotic,
the smoke is hypnotic,
and i find all of this quite strange.

no longer was
she content
walking among the
dead
however there were
none of the living
kind to be found

she didn't understand
their boring jobs
and boring spouses
and boring kids
and boring houses
and boring ***
and boring traditions

she didn't inherit
anything from the
past
she didn't owe
anything to anyone
and she didn't care
to pretend
that she cared

one might call
it hedonistic
but there's no
wrong in
walking away from
anything or anyone
in favor of
walking towards
something better

and this girl
ran as fast as
she could
and found herself
a way to breathe
life into her
existence

nervous nights
anxious days
when the devil
takes to his
knees and
silently prays

petty people slaughtering for plastic crowns

usual, run of the mill individualist.

just bored tired and uninspired
maybe i'll become a liar
pretend i'm a tire
or runaway to join a band of thieves

for now i'll stick to ******* at bottles
and hope for answers at the bottoms
breathing in the smell of autumn
and try to forget it's just rotting leaves

a particular man
dedicated his
entire life
to answer the question
'what is happiness?'
he had loved
and been loved
worked hard
and relished
the fruits of his
labor
he tried his best to
do right by everyone
and never to pass judgment
he had travelled far
and wide
never discriminating
and embracing every
opportunity that came his way
however he never truly felt
himself to be 'happy'
sure he had times of joy
and of course times of sorrow
but some kind of doubt always seemed
to linger in the back of his mind
that he was missing out on something better
that he would rather be somewhere else
and this was ultimately his downfall

he never appreciated what was given
to him in the present
and he failed to realize that happiness
is not something one achieves
but is something that one
creates

happiness is the fleeting moment
that you were in a specific place
at a specific time
and you were a part of something
greater than yourself

you were just a snowflake
in the avalanche

sometimes
i pay for
stuff with
change just to
see the horror
on the cashier's
face.

behind my
eyes there's
a picture
of a boy
he has
a haphazard
half smile
and lips
that beg
for a kiss
his skin
is sun bleached
and his eyes
have more life
than i could
ever fathom.

twice a day now
that unavailable number
calls
and calls
again.
last four digits
1116
they're looking for you,
mommy.
they want your
money,
money that you don't
have.
but my guess is
they'd settle for
blood.

her insecurities are little girls wrapped in ribbons and frilly dresses and fighting for attention
   and her confidence kisses each one goodnight every night and never forgets.

her fears are stubborn old men drunk on nostalgia and whiskey and longing for youth
   and her faith is the loyal friend that never fails to call at just the right time.

this is
the twentieth
time i
get to
see the
heat of
summer
dissolve
into the
coolness
of autumn.

and i
can't help
but feel
very lucky.

please forgive me
if i don't talk much
there's too much conversation
in my head
and to speak anything
into existence
would be unnecessary

the helicopter's searchlight
against the trees project the
shadows of leaves bobbing in the street to
impersonate the reflection of water
it looks beautiful, honestly
until the
slaps of my soles on
suspect blacktop bring me
back and i wonder
who the hell they're looking for