I walk up to the scene of the crime
and there’s a shaking figure with a knife
and a body that will end up in a bag
and there’s a gun in my hand
and there’s blood all over the ground
I say to stop, you’re under arrest
I say to put the blade down and
stand up as slowly as you can

I didn’t write for 3 months and
it was the slowest time of my life
I only write about *** when I’m
not the one that’s having it
which is depressing, I know
now you’re standing there and I’m
yelling at you to leave, to walk
back to wherever you came from
and you’re crying as hard as I’ve
ever seen you cry before and your
reaching your hand out to me but I
absolutely refuse to grab it because
I’m angry that you’re here, you aren’t
supposed to be and you say you’re
drunk as if it makes it any better
but I really just want you to leave
but you want my hand so I give it to
you and end up letting you sleep
in my bed because
I feel guilty that
I don’t feel guilty
I feel guilty that
I don’t feel guilty at all

so I’m standing there with the blade
in my hand, to his neck
and I just kind of let it hangout
push it a little closer, make him sweat
and I move my wrist slightly to break
just the first layer of skin
then down to say, the fifth, not near
close enough to draw any blood
in my defense I didn’t think
anyone was nearby
so I smile
and I take my ******* time
I give him the wink he's wanted
and slowly I shove it in
somebody walks up and is yelling
to drop it, to stand up as slowly as I can
whatever
I give him a big kiss
and I shove it in again

I wake up on a thursday and it’s raining, in a good way
It’s not too hot and my jeans are fitting loose. I walk through
the aisles of a dollar store to purchase new bowls and
cookie sheets and pots and pans because I got
overwhelmed and threw out all my ***** dishes again
sometimes it’s just so much easier to start new
I’m trying to teach myself how to enjoy simplicity
there’s a peace in complete neutrality
I wake up on the day I’m supposed to at the time I’m
supposed to and I feel proud of myself for the first time
I still will worry that I’m not completely capable

It’s been raining for days and I can’t figure out how to make it stop
sometimes I want to be loved in the worst ways, is that okay?
my skin cracks like bones and you can pour alcohol into my
open wounds as long as when I crave toxicity you’re there for me
my one and only shining example of human connection
we go to sleep without saying goodnight, I grip my own body
so hard for a second I forgot I was in this house alone
I need to wash my hair, stop feeling so scared
I grip this plastic rosary that I stole from hot topic
so tight that I forget I couldn’t hate god more if I tried

we were both kicking and screaming
me out of love, you out of rage
I reach my hand out and search for something
realizing I have no proof that you exist at all
the sun is setting behind your head and I wonder
what it’d take to start brand new, which is a line from
another poem I’ve written at another time, or was it this one?
the street is dark, this isn’t more than letters on a page
each of my memories sits in the back of my head
categorized alphabetically like a spiral of index cards
I work on writing in cursive
I work on singing on key
I work on saying it differently, meaning it more, thinking first
I remember everything, but my hand only moves when I tell it to
I tire of my words and set out on experiencing something new
I cut my hair, order different flavors, try out a few different people
I take a deep breath ******* in as hard as these hips can
I consider removing myself from this situation entirely
but it’s a fleeting thought because I’d be so bored
I feel the past tugging at my knees and
it makes it hard to stand for long
all I want is for this world to infect my body

her hair is longer than I realized and it smells familiar
my stomach feels off as I stare at the posters on the walls
because I’m not sure where to look (she’s so naked as am I)
I decide the top of her head is fine then I decide to let my heart
murmur which I've been avoiding since they diagnosed me at 7
but I'm exhausted and orgasming really takes so much out of me
I decide I’ll only do it three more times then I decide just this once

I do it all again the next night because I’m trying to live my life
that doesn’t fully explain my reasoning but it’s all I have to offer
there’s dozens and dozens of different versions of her and I
want to put it into writing that I only ever liked a few of them
I’ve never before liked each and every part of a person
I've also never even been close to admitting that
so I think this is part progress poem and
part backpedaling

she’s playing with a kid and I know it’s supposed
to turn me on but it’s just making me feel physically ill
I wear my bathing suit bottoms as underwear
she texts me that she’s not even ******* wearing any
I’ll sleep in her bed if I want to only because
there’s not really a point to sleeping in mine
it'd be nice if I wanted to, but I don't, so I go home

she chain smoked her entire pack of american spirits
lying completely naked on her ***** nylon carpet
I realized about halfway in that I didn't want to touch her
I turned to my left to a shrine of Joan Jett and then
I choked on her **** piercing for the very last time
she got upset and tried to question what went wrong
for the first time in my life I just shut the **** up
because blaming it on her star sign felt too insensitive

I pick splinters out from my skin
with just the tips of two of my fingers
you're supposed to be careful with that
you can accidentally push it inside of you
and then what happens?
well, you scoop your skin around it
you dig until you make yourself bleed
which means I feel pain when you feel pain
and then I call it solidarity

I'm only good at this because I have perfect vision
and a nearly flawless photographic memory
and things to do, I have a lot of things to do now
each piece is only a fragment of a larger object
I promise I barely squeezed when it splintered
I'm no longer too sad to distract myself from it
and I think that might be the same as being happy

I watch as his hands reach over the couch
underneath my arm towards her body
like he’s saran wrapping his left overs
he’s drunk so he trips, falling onto her lap
and resting his head oh so conveniently
she makes a face at me I don’t recognize
and merely allows his eyes to rest on her
she turns to me and shrugs and I feel it
like she feels his stubble on her neck,
his beer breath between her teeth,
his hunger, appetite, desire to devour
I watch as his hands wrap around her
thighs like it’s time for thanksgiving dinner
and rather instinctively I slap them away
because she’s a ******* vegan after all
I watch his eyes burn holes into her skin
I watch him lick his lips and size his prey
I can hear his stomach growling
I don’t want to know you’ve loved men
cause I know the way they touched you
slowly at first then fast and rough
skimming over your edges and dog earring
each page to the point of causing damage
I keep a pen with me so I can scribble in
my books but only ever to remember  
for the sake of nostalgia not ownership
for enjoyment not overconsumption
it smells like cologne everywhere I go
and some days I’m scared we’ll
never be able to escape the gaze

you carry the film camera I bought you
clenched between your teeth where you keep
all the rest of the cavities I gifted to you
falling out from the gap between my legs
underneath the piano painted coffee table
staring directly into the vinyl sunlight until
it starts to burn like its the fourth of July
when I'm there and the temperature is right
I don't want to have to blow it out
I left with the skin still on my teeth
so I'll come back in order to rip it off
are you satan testing me , too?