The sun rose with your name dripping from her lips this morning
every inch of myself itched with the burning imprint of your fingertips.
and with every moment your teeth scraped my hips.
My cries were a symphony that clashed with symbols of my satisfaction.
Our mumbled blessings cursed with the morning light.
Our memories washed by the whiskey of the previous night.
in this haze I can’t think
Of the difference between wrong and right.
4:00 am has never shone so bright.
and you and I aren’t bound for life.
I doubt we’re even bound for tonight.
But she and I and I and you
have stuck through tougher things,
with bound hands and stick like glue.
but if you lose yourself.
I will find you, underneath a blood moon.

Dear Thomas: I thought about you while I was in the shower today, and I know that that’s a really messed up thing to say because I’ve been spending all of my time trying to convince myself that I’m completely gay and, okay that’s kind of ******* because it’s not like there’s anything wrong with thinking about having *** with you…
Dear Thomas: I thought about you while I was in the shower today and I know that’s a really ****** up thing to say because as the hot water was running down my spine I realized how good our fingers feel intertwined. Dear Thomas, I thought about you while- I thought. I think about you a lot.
I think that I am a gypse in your body and in your head, like I’ve hibernated in your mind all winter but I’ve crept out of your aorta valve to find myself at your centre and beating at your ribcage, sleeping with the spirits you’ve swallowed, nestled into your lymphoid, dreaming about the expanse of your stance like it’s the void.
I think about the way your skin tastes with the water after another shared shower.
I think about your gentle hold and your half-hearted snickers.
I think about the advice you’ve given me, and how I’d reply with it times twice: Breathe.
Dear Thomas: I thought that you and I make a pretty good pair, and I know that’s just kind of out of the blue but you know that old saying “I am rubber and you are glue, all that you say bounces off of me and sticks to you,” but to be honest I think that we’ve got more things in common than anyone knew so how about I just stick myself against you?
Dear Thomas: I must admit though, lately you’ve been kind of distant and I’m afraid of something that might be growing in my chest, I detest the beating but I can’t stop it enough to rest, I know most of it is  because we’re both so completely stressed, but I think it would be best if we found common ground it would ground us both in this large aray of static sound, but before I get a head of myself let my mind wander out in the open where I can focus on your body and how it moves between my thighs. I think, I think I like this wild ride.
Dear Thomas: You challenged me to write something that tasted like mahogany, and wouldn’t you know that I’m searching for the metaphors that capture our hearts in syncopation, but the trepidation beneath my feet and the heat coming from your tired eyes lie to me about your circumstance. Just by chance I might find a way to make you laugh, it might be just once, I’ll cherish every second that it fleets across your face, undoubtly like mace my awkward words will trip you into cruelty once again, send me to your room again Thomas, let us be there together. I can’t promise you forever, no I can’t even promise today, but I don’t think you want anything more than this moment of mutual laughter on your bedroom floor.
Dear Thomas: can you smell the old books in the imagery I’ve conjured? Can you conduct a survey about the respectable spans of time it takes for me to take my mind off you and find an alternative subject, when I’d rather be subjected to your passion than anything else, Thomas, can you hear the cracking of my spine when I finally let myself relax. Dear Thomas, this isn’t supposed to be anything but the musings of your mistress, but I did miss this, Thomas, being stuck in the hit and miss that is... this, whatever this… is.
I think about the way your voice sounded when you said “I’m running out of time and gin.” And I can’t begin to mention how it felt to watch you melt beneath me non the less, the stress that washes from your face, and Thomas the point of this is that life is ultimately pointless, so let’s get undressed and share in the sweetness of each-others sweat.
Dear Thomas: I thought about you while I was in the shower today, and I’ve got to say, your kisses only taste bitter if the bite marks don’t linger.

Do not. Think. About. Him.
I’m really ******* stressed, he says get dressed to cover the scars of the lies they’ve placed upon your head with sounds of the still screaming dead.
I’m really ******* stressed, because I have a million things to do and a million and one reasons to stop thinking about you.
Do. Not. Think. About. Him.
Your breath still lingers on my skin, and I can still feel you within me.
Do not think about him.
Your gentle fingers pulling at my hair and I’m here alone in this small town and I’m about to drown in the memory of your hands.
I’ve got to study, I’ve got to write, I’ve got to type and try to figure out the differences in my head between wrong and right.
Do not think about him.
I’ve drunken too many shots to fire anything close to fire into your iced over veins
I am trying to restrain myself from sounding too much like a sap, but perhaps there’s room enough in your heart for two beside me, besides her, beside you.
I’m likely to linger in this this place for too long. I’m more than likely going to hold you down with my tongue and torture you until you give in.
Do not think about him.
he’s out of your league, he can’t see your bones but he can feel them between you two.
I’ve still found myself in cased in chaos and caring too much about what you think, when obviously you don’t.
Because if you did you’d have stayed, if you did you wouldn’t have left me if you did I wouldn’t be standing so close to the edge because you wouldn’t have mapped out a way for me to get to it, you wouldn’t have plugged the location into my GPS and locked the doors on my car, no if you cared you wouldn’t have asked me so quickly to get dressed, ******* I’m stressed and I can’t win..
Do not think about him.
you’ve become a mantra, a saying to keep myself warm, you’ve become the warning sign that carries with it nothing but harm, because like previously stated you’ve sedated me into driving myself of a cliff and  my unconscious body can’t swim.
Do. Not. Think. About. Him
They say I write about myself too much, they don’t know that you’re my crutch. They’re right, I’m willing to try and branch out and stick myself to the source of my issues but of course I know what that entails and the extra miles between your heart and mine have been tearing me apart, but if we had this discourse it would be about discording and according to you I’d be getting too close for comfort, and I’m still losing myself in the opportunity of something more and I can’t hold myself up with these hands . I can’t stand the idea for loosing you and unwinding but I suppose that’s what it’s come to hasn’t it?
I’m all over the place at this point, I could spout out more rhymes but honestly, you were right when you said you were running out of “time and gin,” like it’s a big thing, like it’s more important for me to be there than for me to be thin, and the sin that keeps us together has been the same since the start, and the extra miles between your heart and mine is what’s keeping me together, you’re keeping me together. You’re tearing me apart.
I started with a bad deed, and now I’ve got about nine, I can’t count the amount of times I’ve tried to stop myself from tying off the loss ends and starting again, and it’s about time I stand up for myself it’s about time I start to think things through. The only things that are separating us, is me and I and you.
Hold on to me for another minute, hold on to me for another day, I can’t promise you forever because nothing good ever stays. I can’t reach you while you’re falling, but if it helps I’m falling too.
The only difference is the traps I’m not falling for, mainly the ones set by you.

When I tried to write you into a poem, I found that I already had, you snuck into the crevices of my smile, you spent your spare time mining your way into my heart and now that the bomb we planted there has gone off I’m no closer to finding closure than I was three weeks ago and I guess that just goes to show that when push comes to shove I’d rather pull then become a push over, I’m not even close to being over you, and the next morning once I had a sober view on things I realized you had done the right thing in letting me go, so now I’m letting you know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Because I let you win, Because I let you in, Because I let my sin control my actions.
I’m sorry
Because of the impact of my folly
Because of the way you tried to stop me
Because of the choices I made
And the decision to stay
I’m sorry
Because I want to be your friend because I rendered myself weaker than I am because I tried to be someone I’m not because I’m too frightened to let this end because I’m bitter without a soul to defend because I lied and tried to get closer to you because I put my needs above yours, I’m making batman references to my friend I said you’re the boyfriend I deserve but not the one I need right now, so I’ll let you go because I can take it but I’m not sure I can make it up to you
I’m sorry.
Because you sank into my skin when I met you, placed your hand over my heart and dug deeper.
Now you're in my bones.
taking up space between my rusty joints
and splintered cartridge.
I could take a scalpel
and cut you out, bleed you out like bad
humors.
if you've rested between my porcelain femurs
does that make you part of me?
Or a tumor.    
I’m sorry
Because I had to have my way
I mean what else can I say?
I’m sorry.
Now this is the part of the poem where you interject, where you tell me that maybe we were each other’s biggest mistakes but at least we were living and together and at least the beast inside of us were shared by each other and at least things never got as bad as they could have.
Here is where you tell me that the key is hidden under the mat, and that if the doors are ever locked all I need to do is knock, here is where you chase the nervous anxiety I have away with a reassuring hug, but you won’t do that will you? You’re done with my chapter in your life, you’ve switched the stitching and you’ve stopped mixing business with pleasure and I’m not needed anymore, so let me change the title of this poem to something with a little bit more of a ring to it, so I can sing it to you until you can’t block it out.
I’m sorry, sorry that I trusted you, sorry that I thought you were different, that I thought you were a bigger person, I’m sorry that I assumed you respected me while you degraded my state of mind, I’m sorry that I thought that you were actually kind. That you wanted a piece of my mind and not just my body. I’m sorry I thought we could be friends.

The poems I wrote for you have scribbled out your name, the cracks in my heart a mortared so I can continue beating this point home, and I’m not alone. So don’t feel sorry for me, don’t be that guy who made my cry and then tries to get back inside. It’s not happening.
I’ve burnt the bridges between us, and in the end. The crevices of my smile hide only my own happiness, I am focusing on myself and the strength within my own mind, so go find someone else to tidy your mess. You can keep your fox hole, I’m happy being faithless.

my skin still smells
you linger
longer than I could have thought
perhaps, I think you thought I was something special.
"You really are beautiful."
Darling, there are demons in my spine, leaking fluids into my brain.
and I'm insane.
So don't stand so close to my flame.

Stop
thinking
about
him.

you sank into my skin when I met you, placed your hand over my heart and dug deeper.
Now you're in my bones.
taking up space between my rusty joints
and splintered cartridge.
I could take a scalpel
and cut you out, bleed you out like bad
humors.
if you've rested between my porcelain femurs
does that make you part of me?
Or a tumor.