Procrastination is evil.
2. Heartbreak is not the same thing as death.
3. Food is good for you, starving is bad
4. People think you’re beautiful, but that doesn’t mean they like you
5. Loving someone is about giving them all and knowing they give all as well.
6. Poetry makes the world around.
7. Success is measured by you, not them.
8. I don’t think I know anyone who hates me as much as I hate myself, which is probably a good thing because most days I don’t really hate myself that much.
9. Pressure is something you apply to an open cut, not your life.
10. People will always change, nothing is permanent.

If only my heart beat in syncopation with my mind.
I wish to make the words collide, but separation is all I can find.
Still I force my hand to tell a tale a soul would plead to hear.
I pray to some cigarette and wine stained God that tomorrow will draw me near.
Yes, tomorrow I would fly high and caress the sky with such a tender touch.
But tonight I am buried, beneath emotion uncontrolled and contorted.
Tonight I cannot so much as separate a single strand of hair from my eyes without the flood of passion.
Pass the salt, pour it onto my self-inflicted wound we so often refer to as love.
But my love has been bruised burnt and destroyed.
I have cursed, killed and polluted my own mind with thoughts of sickness, and now I crave it.
Had I only believed the goodness in myself?
Not let the demons creep up and **** all hope of a new beginning.
Had I so simply as smiled and thanked the lady when she spoke, the gentle kisses of her soft words had pulled my mind from where it had been.
too where I am now.
There are no words. No motions, no belief.
I am Godless and covered in the spit of my immortal demons.
Would it be better if I simply let them win…
their knives are as sharp and their whip is warm.
Their sick pretend grace causes my hands to reach for them. But they’re not there.
Not here, I am without my demons, my lover, my God, my destroyer.
I am alone.

If only my heart beat in syncopation with my mind.
I wish to make the words collide, but separation is all I can find.
Still I force my hand to tell a tale a soul would plead to hear.
I pray to some cigarette and wine stained God that tomorrow will draw me near.
Yes, tomorrow I would fly high and caress the sky with such a tender touch.
But tonight I am buried, beneath emotion uncontrolled and contorted.
Tonight I cannot so much as separate a single strand of hair from my eyes without the flood of passion.
Pass the salt, pour it onto my self-inflicted wound we so often refer to as love.
But my love has been bruised burnt and destroyed.
I have cursed, killed and polluted my own mind with thoughts of sickness, and now I crave it.
Had I only believed the goodness in myself?
Not let the demons creep up and **** all hope of a new beginning.
Had I so simply as smiled and thanked the lady when she spoke, the gentle kisses of her soft words had pulled my mind from where it had been.
too where I am now.
There are no words. No motions, no belief.
I am Godless and covered in the spit of my immortal demons.
Would it be better if I simply let them win…
their knives are as sharp and their whip is warm.
Their sick pretend grace causes my hands to reach for them. But they’re not there.
Not here, I am without my demons, my lover, my God, my destroyer.
I am alone.

there's a lot in me that wants you closer
but more in me that doesn't care
there's a lot in me that wants you far away
more that wants my blood in your hair.
most of me
while we're being honest
claws at my own chest
and is broken at best.

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.

There is a soft throb to this.
All my poems have long names.
My heart is always racing; it's also
always aching.
Beats like a clock. Tick. Tock.
Emptys me like a bottle of wine.
His kisses, like nails, like teeth; against
my spine.
heat, like heavy breathing, like unbelievable pleading; pierce my mind.
His memory. Like sand paper. Like pierced lips. Like skinny dipping. Like unmade memories. Like a life I've led before. Like lies, like keeping score. Like being scorned.

Like cuddling before dawn. Like being safe and being warm. Like being scolded and being  warned. Like being allowed and being torn. Like being kissed.
Like being missed.
Like being kissed.
Like being kissed.
And kissed.
Like heat.
He's, like promises of enjoying defeat.
Of relaxing into new sheets.
Like being kissed.
There's a soft beat to this.
Like being scolded. Like being kissed.

Stop
thinking
about
him.

I sing louder without you.
My voice sounds clearer now that you've left my throat.
I don't choke on the syllables you didn't want to hear.
I am billions of light years longer than when you left me breathless.
You can no longer keep me, captured inside your eyes I am like the sunrise we never quite caught.
I am all the times you made excuses not to love me, I am the loudest time I ever told you I loved you.
Somehow, similarly I am so much more without you.
I am a kaleidoscope of colors blending and bleeding into one. I have completely come undone, where you held me, under your thumb, I am boundless! I am beating fists on chest, I am no longer someone’s second best I am brilliant!

I hate the word beautiful, but it’s all that I can think of right now, there’s the sounds you make when I grab you and the color of the bites on your neck but there’s nothing in between the rapid heartbeats in my chest and the next best thing sitting beside me, you could hide from me, put yourself in a little parcel and package your mind up for sale until you’ve sailed half way to Australia, you could have lied about your past and cast aside a shadow of a doubt but instead when I settled down beside you, your unexplainably soft lips touched the tips of my fingers and lingered on my hips and dipped beneath me whispering beautiful.
I hate the world beautiful, its cliché. Thesaurus’ are made for a reason, I’m caught up in the changing of the seasons and it would be treason to say there is a more fitting word that I’ve heard about you but… I’d really rather not admit to thinking your be-
When the snow softly falls on the lit trees in the moonlight, or the message lights up the screen on your phone and the butterflies in your stomach start to scream. There really isn’t another word for your eyes blood shot and captured by passion, I only have some idea of the way you taste but I’d hasten a guess that it’s sweeter than sugar. That! Was cliché, but hey… please say you’ll forgive me for being so **** forward.
The smoke in this room makes my eyes squint, if you could take a hint instead of taking a hit we’d be a lot closer than we are. Thanks to Mary Jane, and if it’s all the same to you I’d like to say that you are handsome, attractive, be-
I dislike the word beautiful because it’s trivial, of course I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think you were hot. Because ******* do I? Not a volcano, you’re molten lava, after the fires of Pompeii. You’ve single handily wrecked me, crashing into your shore I’m sure you still stretch out your arms to heal the burns left by your fellow man. I can’t stand when I’m around you, my knees quiver and I shiver from head to toe. I must really think you’re beautiful
And I am not about to deny that for every word I’d rather use the word you like best is the most appropriate. And it’s a scientific fact though it’s not backed up by experiments but experience; I’ve found a new way to exercise my right to use something redundant. Here’s my poetic licence, you can check the date of its expiry, I’ve hardly gotten to know you but I know I want to hold you while it’s snowing outside and hide with you from our not quite forgotten fears. So here I am, standing quietly. Stripped of my superfluous splendor and you still look at me in awe, everything is still in this darkness and this snow, I’m not trying to be an actress for you, this isn’t a show I’m just here so you know that it’s true. Your tongue traces your lips and you murmur.
beautiful.

I love the parts of my body which you loved.
Even more, now that you can no longer touch them.
I can bring myself ecstasy.
I belong to my body.
I am my own lover.

Blank Verse.
I only ever write poems about people I want to ****.
Fingeratively speaking anyway.
(Jesus my puns are bad.)
I’ve had some semblance of balance in my life.
Up to this point.
There’s a joint in her hand and she looks like the sea.
Her eyes glazed over like sunsets.
I’ve got a beer in my fist.
First of many, and I mainly want to kiss her.
Caress her, I hardly even want to **** her.
Creep down her spine with my lips and cradle her neck with my fingertips.
She’s got that hair that holds itself up.
Like it’s keeping her up.
Like her hair’s a hot air
Balloon, is that rude?

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.

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.

Sweet blade sink in.
Think thoughts, think thin.
As the end sinks in
Sweet blade cut deep
Rivers  of tears weep
Oceans of blood deep
Sweet blade cut long
Sing a sweet sorrowed song
He’s been gone too long
Sweet blade sink in
As the depression is deep
And the night is long
The force is great.

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.

Snap, crackle, pop, *******, maybe one day our way of life will match up, maybe someday you’ll shake the sad and sick way you sound with your face buried in the ground, snap crackle and pop, snap, crackle and pop.
Snap, like snap dragon, like fire breathing flower beating pollen from bee stings, letting you insert your syringe in, snap, my neck to keep me stagnate, snap your tongue as I walk but, cackle and cat call, call me something derogative, like *****, snap, my negotiative nature has me nearly kneeling on my knees screaming at the stars, snap, because I’m snapping out of this phase, faking it until I’ve made it am I manly enough yet? Binding my breast, walking with my legs apart holding inside the pains of a broken heart until it leaks from my pores, shorter hair and it’ll seem like I don’t have a care in the world, snap crackle pop *******, maybe one day your say won’t matter, maybe someday I’ll shake off the need to impress you when all you’ve done is oppress me. Impressively I’m openly opinionated still, despite your
Crackle, like cackle, like a catapult of insults, like injury that has no bruises, like being lost and found and the sound of your voice, is crackling. Caressing my nape with knives, making the demons inside harder and harder to hide from when they hide inside your hide, your skin, which you stick to me like crackle, snap crackle pop *******, maybe one day your opinions will be shattered by someone who’s louder. Maybe someday someone will smother your power. Maybe someday your soap box will be lit on fire. Snap, crackle, pop.
Pop, like gun shots, like self-entitled macho misters, mysteriously gliding into plain sight, entitling themselves heros where the title terrorist is more fitting, letting themselves let loose and losing themselves in the blood bath created by a society which values machismo over women saying “no” pop, like people placing bets on how many lip stick rings they can get around their *****, pop, like men making markers holding us down with words which pop our ear drums and drum us silent, like silently held hand guns hidden in plain sight, like women lined up to be killed where men should be lined up to learn, where girls are hurled under the bus because our skirts are too short and our voices too shrill, where we **** ambition that grows like snap, like a snap dragon, a fire breathing flower found beautiful but dangerous, like crackle, the cackle of your cat calls and like pop, like gun shots sounding into the streets, like the silence of the women we never knew we needed to heed. Snap, crackle, pop. Stop, holding your tongue and stay your hand, take a silent stand.
Snap crackle and pop *******, because today I can’t afford to let your words matter.

He says I am dangerous, like I am not a woman but a flame, black eyeliner and a course vocabulary. He says that he keeps his vices at arm’s length, and that is all I will ever be. You see I am not his princess, I am not life giving or presently persuasive. I am simply charcoal used to cure poisoning. I am nothing to him but a warm blanket to store until the winter months settle in. He would have me fester and burn on the floor of his dorm as the wind whispers our love into his ears.
I would be his wool blanket, hand knitted and stored in safety until his warm hands clutch mine in the moonlight. I would be his cigar in the pale dawn of Sunday, I would be his eye contact.
Don’t look away, stay focused on me. Here on the brink of destruction we stand, and I would band to you like hot wax melting against my back, attack the vermin which subsides in the history of our people. We still hold dear to the ideals of that period. However, we haven’t grown out of our britches yet.

They used to call me the shoe less poet, because even though my mind was never quite in one place, my thoughts always knew where to fall, and I walked with a steady pace. When I called someone’s bluff they didn’t stuff around and after all was said and done. She had come undone and I was the only one there to listen, so with burdened hearts and heavy lids, she bid me welcome into her bed. I kissed her ripped skin raw, and she saw just how gentle another human being could be but she didn’t see how I could possibly respect her if she said no, because a certain time ago a wolf in hot boys clothing had stolen into her heart, but not before ripping her apart.
He had said, consent is ****.
She was 17 with her heart in her chest and just trying to do her best with the subject of objectification and recommendations from her friends to go for it, when he rounded the corner and saw her and saw that what she was was beautiful.
only two points pretty and three points potential love partner, he’s heard stories of what she’s done and how with a certain touch she comes undone, she came undone under his thumb and now the thing is he doesn’t even know what he’s done, but instead he’s said.
Consent, is ****.
So get on your knees, she doesn’t need another reason to heed her mothers warnings that boys will be boys who will beg and plead and lie, but she’s still trying to come terms with idea that she might actually be worth a second glance, another chance, a single dance. He was never supposed to be anything more than a single pleasure, but he put pressure on her bleeding parts and now part of her feels inclined to decide to let him lie down beside her and hide from the monsters inside.
He said. Consent is ****.
Like her ***** is a wave he can ride until the tide of her mind comes to terms with the lies he’s presented her with. ****, like maybe if you stopped to check, when her thighs opened it was because of his vice grip, when his lips met with hers it wasn’t with love, but lust and he must have been drunk because surely a sober man would know better than to force a 17 year old girl to hurl as he shoved himself inside her, hiding his guilt with the lilt and the tilt of his head and his killer line, “consent is ****.” Baby, it might be, baby it can’t be. Because she’s trying to say no but it’s hard to mutter words when his face is curled into every positive memory about this place, when she has to drink her weight in *** to over come the memories of a misshapen youth, you can bet shes begun to become undone, but it’s not in the right light, her brown hair doesn’t shine in the same way that she has in past and the last thing on her mind was the way you grasped her behind and told her that.
Consent is ****.
Like, maybe if she just said yes she could stop bleeding better yet, make a bet that basically says that she’s useless without his hand to help her stand, perhaps if she just said yes and moaned a little louder it would block out the bleeding passage of herself that is begging and pleading and trying to lead herself to show her true colors, which is red. The shade of shame spread on her bed spread. So when I kiss her wounds and slowly wound her around my wrists, I have to take things slow so that I can’t hurt her and puncture her soul because she’s been mangled tangled around lies and this mistruth that was presented to her when you said.
“Consent. Is. ****.”

cough syrup
drops: from your sullen mouth,
gapes and invites the flies to make their
home. Your mind is a maze
making me yearn for it,
How do you tick?
What lyrics stick in your head?
Where do you hide your dead?  
Flies flicker, stuck to the sweetness
of the syrup bottle
I am similarly enamored
captured, struck by your
****** in, by the potential for sin.
for the taste of the sickly sweet
cough syrup on your skin.

I have been listening to terrible poems all day because you don’t deserve a good one.
You don’t deserve the spit that hailed the ground from my mouth when I screamed about pride and privilege you do not deserve the ground that I stamped on, hollow breaths escaping a tiny mouth.
You thought you were helping me to get louder but I have lost so many voices since I heard you scream.
You do not deserve to look at me! I am going to be so much better because I left you, you do not deserve to think about the way we used to be, you do not deserve to miss me because if you did I would not be writing this about you.
Instead of miles would be mere meters between us. Our ginger hair would still be tangled in the morning light, your body breathing beneath mine.
If you deserved to love me, you wouldn’t have loved her. You wouldn’t have let her slip her fingers around the cracks in the foundation of our house and hold you.
If you deserved to miss me you wouldn’t have kissed her, you would have told me about her the moment you got home, still dripping with sweat still casting off bets still letting me call you my best friend and lover, you shouldn’t have loved her. You shouldn’t have loved her.
But you did. Dear ginger, did you taste her? Did her sweat linger on your naked body like the shame that should have lead you to tell me. Did the courage it took to take her body wash down with the rain while you walked home. Did you feel any pain? Dear ginger, when you knew we were over – when we felt it like the fog which covered the rental car as we inched closer to home, why did you let me feel so alone? At what point did you not recognize me as the person you swore to protect? Dear ginger, when did I become a stranger, when did I become someone you wanted to hurt? At what point did you start taking dating advice from my abuser?
Dear ginger why didn’t you just leave me? Dear ginger the ***** were always in your court. Except when they were in her mouth. Dear ginger, did you stop her from ******* you off or was that a lie too. I don’t actually know anything about you? I’m sorry am I being unfair? Dear ginger did she run her fingers through your hair? At any point during the two encounters did you maybe think that, while you were inside her. “Huh. Maybe I shouldn’t ******* cheat on my partner!?”
I must be over this, because I’m laughing about it. I must be over this because I’m bringing up good jokes, or maybe that’s just how I cope with a situation as ridiculous as this one. In truth, I’m just done.
I wrote a poem about you called plan bee, about a bumblebee who was too fat to fly. It was wordy, I was nervous because I had never written a poem about someone I loved before. After I read it to you we cried together and made love on the ***** kitchen floor. You made me feel like a small puppy, I was always excited to see you. Even lately I’ve been catching my breath when I met you on the street and when our eyes meet I want to believe that you’re the person I could trust and I’m your little bumble bee. But you don’t deserve to see me, and you don’t deserve to make me happy.

Dear insert your name here.
I can hear you in his whispers; I feel your memory in his pulse when it beats against mine. Dear insert your name here; I have seen the private parts of your smile in his old photos and your heart break in the edges of his glare. I have felt your longing in his silent touch.
Dear, insert your name here, you may be nameless to me but I can see your tortured past whenever he refuses to tell another person his name. You have wrapped yourself so tightly next to his heart, in the cavities of his mouth I can still hear you screaming.
Dear. Clarice, please… I’d like to know.
Please tell me how you let up and let him go?

She says the best revenge is being able to say “you are gone and I am fine.” That in time all love passes in one door and out another and that there will be another and I look at her and sigh and I can feel her love as it passes me by.
I saw you at the bus stop today. I held my head high and my eyes burned holes into your skull, I felt a certain lull in the self-destructive thoughts which patter around my brain like the September rain. You, are no longer the man who helped me stand. I am my own light house in the storming sea you told me we could whether together but when the weather got too tough you jumped ship and I am now waist deep in my own psychological ****, still spiraling around in circles about all the things you said to me and all the places you’d promised you would be with me.
But in that moment before I turn to get onto the bus I forget about that. I feel your lips part to smile and then you wrap your arms around me and everything is going to be okay. The dragon is sleeping inside me and you are keeping it cradled in your arms I can tell the difference between what helps me and what causes me harm when you tell me I’m beautiful I believe you. And you bring me so much joy I could cry, but I don’t. I don’t even try.
You board the bus the moment melts and I’m back to being incarcerated by my own thoughts. Which are daggers lurking around the dungeons of my subconscious I am digging my nails into my skin I am trying to claw you out of my mind my hair is scattered across the pavement my movement is staggered and my breathing is haggard.
I am barely alive. I am trying to tie you to a tree in my back yard I am trying to teach my tongue to say someone else name next to I love you. I am trying to touch myself in a different way than you did.
I am tying you to the tree with the twine I cut from your brilliant red hair I no longer care what you think of me. I am no longer care if you think of me, I no longer care if anyone thinks of me ever again.
I want to be rinsed in acid and washed in your blood. I want your babies to be named after me I want to stop screaming your name into the night. I want to hold someone else tighter than you ever held me. I want to be angry without being told to keep quiet. I want to be able to trust myself with my own misfortune. I want to be able to tell the difference between good people and bad ones because you tasted like rain water and I was being burnt alive when I met you I miss you, like a dessert misses rain
That is to say that I have adapted to being without you. I have buried everything we built together, like the house we shared and the bed we made love in every night until my body was a well you’d wrung dry I want to be able to say goodbye to you.
I want to be rid of the sin which bound us forever.
I am tying you to the tree in my back yard and I am burying everything we built together.

When i see them together my heart drops
such a distance between my throat to my lowest point
my mind believes she’s worth more
but who am i to question her price
when i too have stayed.
her hands tingle when she walks.
the distance between her self worth
and her incomparable lust
trumps his long gaze
his wide lips
his thin eyes
her small hips.
shrinking sickly.
one more package.
smoke them quickly.

Don't ******* a writer.
Her thoughts will be validated upon paper,
her eyes will cry tears of ink that sink into the pages forming words never quite forgotten,
your past together will be an anthem to young girls who suffer in the same,
when she spits out her blood soaked poetry the guilt will drive you insane.
Don't. ******* a poet
Because at three thirty in the morning she will write an angry piece about how perfect your eyes looked when the rain splattered your windshield, how your kind words melted the barricade, and when you were safely inside you lit a match, just to see how many things would catch
Dont break a poets heart,
it will not break her pen and when she sends the message across the web of how you hurt her,
the sound will resonate across the night clubs and everyone will know you shattered her like good china, smashed underfoot by a mad man, tension she couldn't bare, and drunk text messages unsent about how much she cares.

We, were an unfinished painting the artist got bored with, A Mona Lisa on an etch sketch,
you curled yourself around me and tucked yourself underneath my tongue,
you said when I smiled your limbs came undone, and you fell in love with me every time I sung to you,
well maybe I should have sung louder, because my message is now falling on deaf ears,
I want to hear the words, I need you, I want to see you, I miss you.
Instead I'm glued to my screen trying not to send you hate mail so obscene,
I never meant to get this attached to you, and maybe that's why you're running away.
If I asked you to stay would you bother? Or just run faster?
I promised myself I wouldn't write a poem about you, because if I did that I would have to open my mouth,
and I'm scared now that you've jumped out, and have found safety in another girls arms, how did I not realize this would cause me harm, I never wanted to fall for you.
Don't make empty promises, to poets.
We will never forget, because we produce the highest form of lies known to man, I can make words in languages you'll never understand, but with a flick of my hand and the right stance I could make you fall in love with me after the second glance. So don't try to lie to a writer, buddy I've been there. You think hearing "I hate you." hurts wait until you wake up to.
"Your eyes make mine want to bleed, your voice crackles up my spine, and shake me to the core. Every time you look at me I think of how many different ways I could feed your organs to starving children in Africa. Your pancreas I'd send to Guam, your heart to Ethiopia. Lead you into the depths of hell and keep you locked up. In case I wanted to play with you later, no. I'm not bitter, what makes you say that."
Or better yet, imagine waking up to silence. I cannot speak for my words are numb to the bubble of hatred in my centre. If I let it escape I will never stop screaming, I've been meaning to tell you that I could never regret anything we've done together.

As the liquid rolls down her cheeks.
She shakes her eyes and weeps.
For she has voices screaming her name
And creatures of her nightmares live inside her brain.
“I love you.” they taunt her
“I hate you” they haunt her.
With failures and science
With fears and with doubts.
But we can’t leave the phrase.
“god isn’t here” out,
Once she’s sleeping she’s safer
When she’s alone its okay.
For dreams are for sleepers.
Where little girls play.

This house is as old as dust.
It creaks and sighs with ever once of pressure.
My room
Is dark and smells ever so slightly of someone who is not me.
The young girl who waited for snow days, the boy: his
Midnight eyes and, broken memories, intact.
(His heart and his head in a field somewhere)
She holds a place here, with the dust and the creaking floors.
There are moments held in captivity within these walls.
(Suspended in disbelief, for they cannot imagine who has replaced them.)
My heart still rests on the bed, my eyes weary.
A day of traveling behind me, a lifetime of moments ahead.
(the blunt assumption there is more to life than this.)
She is not me, the crossed legged one.
Computer screen, light pollution beside the old lamp,
(cascading the room with warm and comforting shadows)
What once frightened me, now I greet like an old friend.
I am here for a moment, as is the light.
Ignited with a spark and snuffed again by a whim,
Of something I cannot control.
This house is as old as dust, and I will return to it
Time and again, although it will never truly
Be mine
(ever again.)

You popped into my mind today
might have been the leaves,
the music, the mindset I was in.
Maybe you never really left,
just slept in my head, like a tumor of turmoil and disgust.
until a moment when I’d stop to think about the past
and your face would rediscover itself.
I’ve stopped writing poetry, maybe it’s because nothing ever happens to me.
I used to try so hard to write something that would make you fall in love with me.
He doesn’t make me impress him, although I always try.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
his hands, are too far away tonight.
Your face, isn’t far away enough.
It’s been years, but you’re still here.
not nearly near enough to hear me scream.
set me free.
an undeveloped poetry moves between my lips
your smile glistening on the glass of my shattered past.
I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re gone.

Laugh, because he looks just as unassuming and non-violent as the day you met him.
2. Contemplate swiping right.
3. But don’t
4. Contemplate swiping left.
5. Close the app
6. Don’t eat breakfast, remember how much he liked you thin.
7. Contemplate smashing the phone.
8. Re-open the app. (close it again. Close it again.)
9. Remember his voice, calming and challenging.
10. Wait for the weight of it to come crashing down.
11. Feel the relief of knowing how much you’ve moved on.
12. Say his name, softly to yourself in your bed.
a. Naked sunlight shifting through your freshly clean hair. (The same style you had when he had you.)
13. Put on something cute, feel yourself filling your clothes with the shape of your body.
a. The one he claimed, time and time again.
14. Walk down to the coffee shop, the last one you saw him in.
15. Sit out front.
a. Baiting the shark with a ****** nose.
16. Think about the red head who told you he loved you. (Think about him lying too.)
17. Think about lying on top of him, about playing with his brown hair.
18. Think about the gentle moments, the silence between you.
19. Think about how his clothes looked on you, think about how little you felt next to his taught chest.
20. Think about the moments which make you smile, when you wonder if he ever really hurt you.
21. Scream.
22. Open the app.
23. Close the app.
24. Run from it, like you ran from him.
25. Listen to the music he recommended.
26. Enjoy it because you don’t connect it to him anymore.
27. Remember his hands.
a. soft and hard.
b. He was soft and hard.
c. And fast and slow
d. And hot, but so very cold.
28. Drink coffee.
29. Drink water.
30. Eat something.
31. Breathe.
32. Scream.
33. Open the app. Close the app.
34. Laugh, because he’s not a house you’re ever going to visit.

i dont miss you like i used to. it's not there all the time

but when it is there i cannot sleep

he said i felt sad like someone feels sunburnt or frost bitten

like you had somehow smothered me and infected me with your touch

you truly are fire and I have melted beneath you.

I doubt I will freeze again but if it's all the same.

I don't think I want to.

There are no hammers in my room.
No tactical advances which need enhancements.
no broken bits of furniture in need of further
assessment.
There are no screwdrivers.
no holes filled with crack filling nothing willing to be cut.
destroyed.
nothing blotchy or broken.
or to say this house is less than homely.
There are no hammers.
no holes filled with crack filling nothing willing to be cut.
destroyed. Deconstructed. Detonated.
No little lines on the carpet, no rusty pipes beneath my sink
There are no razors in my bathroom
nothing which brings blood from my retinas
nothing stinks of mold, nothing sinks in the carberater
escaping excavation
measure the short comings of my
makings, and takings, and tasks.
There are no dust mites beneath my bed
there are nothing but soap and cleansing masks.
sleeping with the boogy man, sharing his head
space,
no naked, termites in my walls.
skeletons in my closet.
nothing that would appall an exterminator.
nothing which says this house is less than
homely.

I am the ghost in the machine
You raise the curtain and what Tim Burton told you would be there is
I will feast on your Innards and cast without regard to your suicidal aunt
a hand gun and tell her to have fun
I am the devil and it's not evil I seek it's retribution.
Join my clan; you don't still believe you're part of some godly plan!
Ahahahahah! You're so cute when you’re terrified. Go on try and run, you'll never hide.
but behind your eyes I smell desperation.
And any chance at rehabilitation would be *******
And yet you have hope behind those eyes. Your mind racing with possibilities that I might be lovable and changeable.
But I’m the devil and hell is my navel
I control the universe.
Your dog got hit by a car.
Blame me,
He looks better as tar
he makes a great floor mat. Should have trained him in hand to paw combat.
Your mum is terminally Ill
Send me the bill.
You best friend dies, hate to say it but did he even try.
I control and contort; I do not send hope or
Comfort. I am the devil. They say third times the charm
Maybe this Time you'll remember I'm here only to do harm.
I'm the ghost in the machine.
But I'm only as strong as you make me seem.

She’s not alive anymore
Something inside her broke
and it was the last string left
and the first time they spoke
They don’t talk because
no one cares
No one’s there
Then there are her friends
She doesn’t even like them
and you don’t get it
she’s bleeding
She’s numb
and if you weren’t so dumb
and maybe if you got off your ***
and sold the banana and grew a pair
she’d smile and sing
like she used to
but now every other word’s a sting
and she sits behind me in math class
but we’d never let her in
and she doesn’t tell me what she thinks
the national geographic
was being too graphic
when all she wanted to know was the traffic
in London, and somewhere in France
and the size of that ugly fat ladies pants
and the weather and whether or not she could cry
and if she would actually die
To be the size of the ladies on tv
As she reads her books
She gives her looked
She hurt herself
She hides her heart
She’s torn apart by you
And if you’d open your eyes
You’d see her tears
And tear
Yourself from the hurt and hate you
Harbor and see that

I get so high without you.
I have too.
I can't let my mind think of you.
of your body against mine.
against hers too.

You pinned yourself against me,
and I'm still trying to figure out why?
and I can't cry anymore.
and I can't stop shaking and getting
baked.

I stumble out of bed
Taking dream out of my head
Running razors across dead hairs
As they fall like the leaves in my back yard
I feel naked in my skin, basking in my sin
As I fall back down
Will you turn me around
My face to the ground
Hold me alive, I don’t wanna die.
I don’t wanna die
I understand your disappointment
As you stare blindly at my scars
I find life hard to bear
I find love hard to care about
when I’m clouded with doubt.
about you and I.

How to be a *****.  Step one, find a lover, preferably one of the same gender and do not render yourself completely helpless against her charm, don’t hold her too close because her eyes are fire and you must be the moth dancing seductively close to the flame but don’t mame yourself with her words, don’t forget that she’s leaving in a month and you the moth only lives a few days don’t fall in love with her, that would be gay.
Step two, get another lover, preferably one who is awkward and cute, someone who can flip you on your back and pin you but doesn’t because he is gentle someone who fills himself with your smile and takes solace in the fact that just because you’re **** buddies doesn’t mean you’re not making love, but soon he’ll discard you, not like a broken glass he won’t smash you. More like an apology an epilogue to a song you didn’t know you knew the words to. He will remind you, you are human,
acquire a third someone poetic, you know these are just safety nets in case the first one leaves you, you heave through the pain of every meeting but you still worship your first as if she wasn’t your curse but your lover, but you can’t love her.
Step four; have *** with them, this might seem like an obvious choice but if the voice in your head says it’s a good thing that this fling isn’t fool proof prove them wrong you’re allowed to say no sometimes
Step five: Stay alive amongst the bodies huddled close, don’t fall in love with the first, she is not well rehearsed or as well versed as the third don’t miss your second, not the way he beckoned you closer and don’t hold her, don’t hold her don’t love her, don’t kiss her, don’t miss her just **** her she’s your *** toy and you’re hers don’t fall for her.
Step six: solitude is simple, measure the space between his dimples on the off chance he’s ever smiling, the timing is perfect but you can’t purchase another round of bullets for this gun, it’s all fun and games just don’t lose it, don’t love it just like the flame
step seven: minutes in heaven is your new best friend, because a new pair of lips will remind you that you’re not as alone as you know you are
step eight: debate telling her how you feel and throwing away the third, but then say no because after tomorrow she’ll be gone and your hands will be tied to his bedposts where they belong
step nine: cry. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from falling and calling her name as you felt the soft grass beneath you.
step ten: send a quick message to the second, thanking him for showing you that it is possible for you to mean something to someone without hurting them. Let him know that before this you thought that destruction was your only coping mechanism because you have destroyed so many before him and now things have changed.
Hold her. You know deep down inside that you can’t hide from the way you feel you can’t exchange your emotions for a safety net you just have to let the pain sink in.

You like the hiding behind closed doors smile
Don’t you
You like the Shushed, Hushed hub bubs
Don’t you?
You like the long silences and awkward pauses
Don’t you
You like the “Shh, don’t tell anyone what. We. Did”
Don’t you?
You like keeping secrets and letting people say
Don’t you....
You like locking people like me in closets, knowing that my clothes will never be closed to people like you and your sick twisted...
Don’t you’s.
Well this virus isn’t going to go away, thats right I’m here to stay and nothing is going to get in my way so baby sit tight cuz it’s only going to get harder, better faster and finally stronger.
Don’t you
think that this is getting old, maybe we should try something else, maybe you should get over it and let me go, from this fun house mirrors
Don’t you
wonder if one day I’m going to realize that you are not.
Who you want me to be
Who they look up to
Don’t you
Know I’m going to take the edge and step from it
I’ve out grown all my briches and
Brunt all my bridges and
Cryed all my rivers
I’m trying to get over it but
You don’t know how hard it is to let it.
Go.
You like the “Quiet timing”
Don’t you?
You want me to stand back while you
Hurt me?
Here we lay,
broken at best
Shattered Pieces
Shattered Rest
Left alone
Dead beats in my chest
Cold and hard
lest we let go
Lest we rest
Lest we think over this terrible mess
Don’t you
Know about the ending the finish
Don’t you?
Think maybe we should give up
while we are ahead...

I am not your lover, I am not your sister, I am not your friend I don’t depend on your for knowledge I’m not in college to listen to your lies if I try hard enough I can still see you standing there with her.
Do you remember when we met? You told me in Latin that our hearts beat in syncopation and that the trepidation underfoot was caused by the ****** tension. That the earth quake that made my hands shiver would melt like winter into spring if I sprung myself onto you but here’s the thing it didn’t. Of course that didn’t stop us from trying I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t love every second of it.
I can’t say that I never loved you, and I can’t tell you that you were the closest to heaven that I had so far felt but that doesn’t stop the fact that I wasn’t your ******* therapist. I couldn’t fix you, you told them all that I made you fall in love with me just so I could dash your dreams like I enjoyed hearing you scream, darling I’m not that mean. You fell by yourself and I tried to catch you but I couldn’t hold you up to the bar on par with the mentally stable, I wasn’t able to fix you.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t try. When you cried about the darkness I held you in my arms, when the sunlight shone too brightly I shielded you from harm and your rigorous charm melted my cold heart inches apart from where I let you in.
I am not your sin, I am not your sanctum, I am not your addiction, I did not tie you to this post and beat you, I didn’t cheat on you and I didn’t lie. I cannot begin to pretend that I am someone that I’m not for you anymore. You hold me down and call me a ***** but I’m just here hoping you’ll let me walk away from you untouched because I’m not your enemy or your hatred. The battle that is going inside of you has nothing to do with me, can’t you see that?
I’m sorry you’re hurting, I can’t imagine the pain you must be going through it’s just that I throw myself in front of trains for you and you’ve never ushered so much as a thank you. So here’s my response, ***** you! I’d scream from the top of buildings and beckon down the doors of the palaces. I want you to know how much I don’t like you.

I can’t feel beautiful because I can’t feel anything at all
and the lines I’m typing aren’t mine
and you’re just reaching to see your own spine
the lies you’ve spun can be told by the light shining through the dirt filled blinds.
I’ve got nothing left so make me fall.
Because I can’t feel beautiful if I don’t feel anything at all.

Thoughts I have while writing poems.
I can’t write poems with the lights on, like having *** after a meal.
I can’t write poems in silence, like ******* when my roommates are home.
Like putting your hand over my mouth and over my ***. Like planting kisses on my neck and letting me melt into your lap.
I can’t write love poems, like making love with a ***** playing in the back ground.
Like looking into your eyes while you hold your callused fingers inside of me, like looking into your souls and being blinded by your hair.
I can’t write poems unless the muse grabs me by my neck, all my best poems came after he did.
And after he left, and he left, and she left, and he left, and he left.
I try not to write poems about you, I wish I had written more before I realized how stupid you are. Like I should have written about how you drunkenly serenaded me with Sinatra.
How you taught my tongue to tolerate the taste of gin. I should have written more kind words before they started huddling around me in masses and causing me to create something with malice.
I can only write poems about people I hate, like spitting in your open mouth.
Like letting you **** me. Like letting you fight me. Like letting your tiny fingers find every piece of me and try to preserve them in jars.
I can’t write poems with the lights on, like making love to your memory.
I can’t write poems in silence, like looking at my naked body in the mirror.
I can’t look at myself the same way since you touched me.
Like I am a piece on contraband, like my skin is stale.
I can’t write poems alone. Like kissing her in the snow.
I can’t keep building fortresses like this, like keeping her at arms-length.

I like my body when it's without your body.
It feels longer, stronger.
More complete.
I am not trying to compete to be the object of your affection anymore.
I am more than just your cutlery or the metal albums you hoard.
When I roar: The ground shakes beneath the feet I once thought needed to be so small.
I can call on my inner strength.
I’m renewed and rejuvenated

I’ve debated going back to you, fighting to get with you.
But you’d never go to war for me.
I see now that there is a sea that separates us
How little there was keeping us
Together, so I let her.
Be the boundary between us.
(She deserves better.)
But you broke us. Bent me backwards. (Buried me beneath sand.)
Now I stand on it: I heated my grave make glass, I thought we’d last.

But we’re passed now and I prefer my body; when it’s without your body.
It’s longer, stronger and more powerful.
I was a prologue to a burning book.
A shattered tea cup.
I like my body when it’s without your body.
Because it’s mine.

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.

You should just get out.
I’ve changed too much; the pretty lady you looked through that night isn’t the same space being filled by the broken body in your bed. So just get out, you don’t find my frightening or mysterious anymore. My ****** thoughts aren’t spoken words but ravaged thoughts, repressed and undressed for no one anymore. I keep it in, I cannot communicate the bastardizing ******* that’s in my head, I am not brilliantly broken, I am ashamed and busted.
I am not the princess you paid for. I am the thing you’ve worked so hard for, but have failed at none the less. I am the mess you let slip into your heart when you thought no one was looking.
I am not the wind, or the ice water down your throat on a hot day, I am unforgiven and easily forgotten. I am bitten but not chewed, I have bite marks the shape of my own mouth down the gaps in my spine and I am nothing, I am not my own mind.
So just leave, let this be a warning and just get out. I am not deserving of your serving or your love. I am pathetic and weak and baby I am not the sunrise you thought you were chasing I am the fire that burnt down your house.
I have done nothing for you but bend your will, I am not fortifying and I am not forcing you to stay anymore. So say what you but just get out.

Sometimes I wish I was uglier, like I wish I had pins and needles sticking out of my skin.
I wish my face was riddled with scares from pimples and my dimples had shiny silver rods in them that scraped against the inside of my mouth every time I smiled.
The first time I fell in the snow it was down the hill. My limbs slipped from under me like a rug being pulled up to be cleaned and I tumbled into the snow and the ice. I felt my body give up on me and surrender to the pain I imagined the jeering faces of the drivers passing me by, I felt broken and busted but I felt alive.
Sometimes I wish I had seven heads. One to tell you all the beautiful things I think about you, another to spit spirtitual lingos and recite bingo numbers, and another to remind me of world hunger and why I should eat more and that I shouldn’t shrivel my body like dried grapes, another to remind me that the word for dried grapes are raisins, another to give me a reason to keep it together another to help me take it all apart. And the last two would constantly bicker, bringing out the bitter in me and the philosophy major in my mind who can’t seem to find time to put pen to paper and think about life living and longing, I am longing to feel like I am meant to belong somewhere.
But on the other hand, or head rather – I want to be an outlier. I want to be a liar. I want to tell ugly people they are beautiful. I want to let the hopeless know that there will be another sunrise I want to tell her she’s going to live right before she dies because I am so desperate to make people smile I will twist myself into the prettiest sounding lies, don’t tell me this is selfish. Don’t harp on me for wanting to have people accept me when the unaccepted are getting murdered. Don’t put a gun to my head and then tell me to be true to myself because the trigger will go off.
Sometimes I wish I was bigger, never very loudly – I want to be a dragon. I want to breathe fire on the ones who have hurt me I want to fill my lungs with gasoline I want to line up the firing squad and survive them I want to believe I am worth more than the labels; more than the fables they tell about “my kind of people.” I want to rise above the bullies and the torture chambers I want to be able to write poetry without being on the brink of tears I want to spring forth new ideas.
I want my ears to grow to the size of tree trunks. I want to be able to hear the earth while she cries out for mercy I want to close my eyes and see the thousands of tiny lies we tell each other each day. I want to bleed, open and wounded. I want to hold rage and love in both hands I want to take a stand and
I want to be able to love again. I want to be able to cry when she moves me, I am not a mountain I am not a dragon I am just a man. I am brutally honest and I can’t caress away the cold truths this world will give you but I can grant you a million kisses. I can send you well wishes, I can call you caring and smart. I can remind you that things have been hard and they will likely get harder. I can be with you when they do and I promise, I can hold onto you.

I’m tired of trying, I just want to rest.
If you want my body, go on and take the wreck,
I’ve made myself into something I despise and if it works for you then I guess that’s fine.
By the time you read this I’ll be gone, and your sick memories will become one.
A dream I’ve been haunting, and keeping inside. In a desperate attempt to hide
I’d like to take all the things you taught me to see, bundle them up inside me.
Cry myself a river to let it all out. Then punch my ticket and with it take a razor to a clean arm.
You’re the abuser and the user the king and the accuser.
“Careful follow my instruction, and I will show you self-destruction.”
it’s criminal how you can consume me, how the thought of you makes a muse out of me.
I thought you were my friend! But there is nothing left to mend, but a sickness and the ability to bend.
I’ve been losing my mind, and I tend to assume you’re right I’m wrong, can I do anything but not make this choice?
I used to say I miss your voice, but I’ve become so custom to hearing it so loud that it blocks out any and all sound. Even if you’re not around
I’m floating in a sea of lies, and I’m deprived of the basic need, to feed. Food is too simple I need something more; help me forget the pain of remembering her.
Now that we’re alone together
can you help me forget her?
I can’t help but want to fight you
I’ve been through shades of blue
but this is an entirely different hue.
Keep me close, hold me here.
Whisper in my ear, you’re not who they say you are,
I don’t want to believe how much you’ve been hurting me
But it’s over now I’m all dried up, the ocean I was swimming in has become un done.
And I’ve been tired of trying for so long now. I can’t remember a time where I didn’t doubt you.

I've run miles,
upon miles,
trying to forget how you smiled
and for every time I called you mine,
I'm trying to bleed you from my spine.

Let me write you a poem, not because I can but because I have to
Your name drips like candy off the tongue, in a world that seems empty of all else your pulse feels like drag racing on a highway.
Put your hands on me.  Bluntly and stop, thinking and start feeling me. Crawling into your bed and holding your head up so I can peer into your mind, to see what I can find.
I want to remind myself of how much I mean to you
and how late nights are form fitting dresses on an anorexic,
Sugar pills given to diabetics.
red markers given to cutters, or braces given to people who stutter.
You, are every if and or but I’ve ever ignored. I implore you to understand me
my nooks and crannys, my would’s, should’s and can be’s.  
I want you like ****** coursing through my veins.
I can’t contain myself.
Skip town on a bus, to find your way into my room on my bed under my sheets, my skin, my heat. Beat me, leave bruises on my thighs so when my lovers see them they have to ask why and I have to hide you, like a drug addiction and bad breath in the morning, you feel like global warming against my skin, when you literally lift me up I’m reminded of how small I am in comparison.
Let me write you a poem, not because I want to but because I’m in love with you.
Had you fooled didn’t I?
Let’s get one thing straight.
I hate the way you make me feel.
I’ve taken too much time to heal these wounds and you remind me that they’re still fresh.
My body feels like it’s in love, I can’t think of anything else when you’re around
except the sound in my own head.
I fell in love with you like a razor blade cuts across fresh skin.
Quickly, and with the malice of a thousand swearing tongues
I found your name on the end of a list too many times to forget.
and I hate it.
Because I never write poems for people I am not in love with.
So forgive me if I can’t come to grips with the idea that I have
fallen for you like a snow storm, like the rain that shatters glass.
Kicking and screaming, on the soft grass.

Let me write you a poem, not because I can, but because I’m afraid that I have to.
If I don’t write these memories down then I might forget you.
and I don’t want to.

You're in every memory.
You've crept into every crevice.
First question:
Did I ever not know you?
Were you ever not there?
Did you actually ever care?
Did you listen when I said no? Now that it's all too late
Do you debate whether her tender touch was worth it?
fingers lit with fire you once fanned now they publish words about you I can hardly stand. I cannot stand up to you anymore so I ran.
But you didn't chase me, you've given me space in a literal sense but you're still inside my mind and memories.
That night I can home from the bar the evening after we decided to end things. We held each other and you held in that desperate secret.
I shouldn't have heard about her from someone else.
I was always truthful to you, but you lied to me.
Third question: When did it become inconvenient to love me?
Was it when you saw the panic in my eyes when you asked her to stay the night? Did it begin when I told you about how I dream about hanging myself by my own insides? Was it when I told you I wanted to die? I have tried, to keep me grounded and the sound of self hatred at bay, but baby I guess that just wasn't enough for you was it?
Fourth and final question.
will you listen to me crying in the room next to yours?
With your doors locked and your guns loaded with loaded question, can you bear to bar yourself from my hands.
So soft.
from my heart, hardening with every passing day.

Maybe if I write about it, it’ll go away.
Maybe if I spill my guts to a room of strangers I will no longer feel the danger
Maybe, just perhaps. If I **** in my stomach for long enough, it will leave me alone.
If you put a frog in boiling water they will jump out, if you put a girl in a corset she will shout that it’s too small! It won’t hold all of me and why would I want it to?
You see, cooking girls is a lot like cooking frogs, you’ve got to promise them cold water on a hot day, and you’ve got to promise that you’ll accept them even if they’re gay. If their legs are hairy, if their thighs are knee deep in celluloid you’ve got to insist that you can sit with them at the dinner table and while you’re slowly cranking up the hot water dial, you’ve got to let them believe that they’re not on trial, and when the water gets warmer so slowly that they can’t feel it until it’s too late.
You’ve got to create an atmosphere for deceit so when you hand them the revolver, it’s because they were the first ones to reach.
It’ll start with her friends, they’ll make comments about her plate size, or they’ll joke that they themselves have an “eating disorder” Only that they’ll, eat dis-order and dis-order and she’ll laugh and choke down another serving, while trying to order the thoughts in her mind, trying to find a way to respond to the obvious oddities of her social standings and trying not to be standing too close to the bomb when it drops, and when it goes off she’ll offer her baby fat as a portion of the poison that put her in this position in the first place.
So yeah, maybe if I write about it it’ll go away, maybe if I open my lungs like she opens her throat and purge the thoughts I’ve got squished into size two jeans that seem like they fit, I’ve got a bit of a chance that I can stand against the enemy. Which in the end is me, mind you, my mind fighting against the trails that I’ve hidden behind, maybe my self-esteem is lower than they would have it seem, and maybe I make the mistake of seeming like I’ve got it together when in reality I’m just living in the shadows of rehabilitation and I’ve been debating with the part of me which is still holding the revolver, that maybe I’m not over it and there’s a good chance I’ll never be, which might be okay but could also cost me my life.
Who knows though, maybe if I write about it, it’ll go away, maybe if I tell people what I’m going through it’ll be harder to relapse maybe I can just collapse on the notion that I’m notoriously negative and critically cynical about myself which means I deserve to skip desert, maybe it’s called EDNOS because my eating disorder knows which buttons to push when, and which messages to send, like you look like a whale when you sit down, your thighs don’t touch the hold onto each other in desperation, the amount you put into your stomach can feed a small nation, maybe if you write about it it’ll go away? Do you think dispelling words onto a blank is the only personification I crave? Do you think I’m small enough to be crushed? Can’t you see that I can’t be killed?
All I know is that I can’t keep this inside, I can’t hide from the demons in my mind anymore, I’ve let them fester there too long, I’ve got layers of lies making for a disguise with too many holes to hold anything but *******, I’ve got to let some of it out, I can’t keep living like this, I can’t keep lying to myself, I have to put this part of my life on the self. I don’t know if this will help. I just know I need to let it out.

Lie down
He’ll encourage
let me
He’ll say
how was your day?
He’ll ask me
Fine,
I’ll say
She wants more and so do I
Let me go
I’ll shout
Calm down
he’ll soothe
condescendingly
All I want is to be able to fly
without having to let go
or say goodbye
he doesn’t get that I’m screaming
he doesn’t get I’m not worth it
He doesn’t want better if better isn’t
me.