my teeth and your saliva both feel tight in my mouth,
as I see you periodically checking your rear view
mirror to look if my face has changed or if
I'm still playing the quiet game.
I am.
sometimes I talk when really
all I need is a touch
she took her clothes off slowly,
the front of the record said "are you alone?"
in scratch handwriting,
not the time. it's just really not the time.
and I'm trying to learn how to sing but I
can't even begin to talk, it's too hard to
think when you are close to me and
I mean that in a really bad way,
I think of her terrible boston accent
and his ******* ******* kids
and the scars on her legs she never explained
and that crazy look in their eyes
I hangout with guys that carry guns, now
and they try to feel me up when their girlfriends aren't looking
I’d love to sleep for an entire night
I’d love for all my time to just be mine

I cry for you once each night, every night.

Is it possible to love in silence?

I stand in front of my bathroom sink and stare directly into the mirror, it’s 68 degrees and partly cloudy and now there’s nothing staring back at me. Have I ever been able to just - exist? Right now I can’t seem to remember. Has there ever been a time where I was able to formulate words without being terrified of who was reading them? I remember once somebody told me they didn’t like questions in poetry, I see myself through your eyes every time you change your mind and now in each mirror there’s nothing staring back at me. There’s a science to walking through windows and I’ve only ever been able to get to the second floor. Is there a science behind reflections? I can’t see myself as anything other than what you see which means I can barely see myself at all. I guess I’m just trying to say that time moved at the exact pace it should have when you were around and I have absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to continue loving myself when other people stop.

mine tastes sour and sweet, probably because I’ve been sweating nonstop and yours smells like burnt afternoons when we were just friends or I guess you can barely even say that
I pick at mine and you pick at yours and
I like it most when mines against another
I felt it once, before I knew anything at all
and it’s never been quite so soft
now you’re like a statue, but not in a **** way
more meaning you’re made of stone
and I’ve been staring at you for weeks waiting for you to blink or budge but you’ve always been so **** good at standing in one place
if I ever get to feel yours on mine
it’ll feel so good
and if I don’t then I guess
thank god everyone has skin
I’ll do anything to avoid the sound it makes when it starts to break —
even get rid of this layer entirely,
like I’m peeling it all clean off

it’s people and places and shadows and asphalt and none of it looks familiar so maybe I’m just reaching out for warmth of any kind. I didn’t know if it would make it better or worse if you never had known me at all, but now I can’t seem to find my reflection in anything around me and I can say with near confidence that it’s this feeling of obscurity making me want to crawl back inside the last version of myself I allowed believe that I was safe here at all

I think of you for twenty seconds
twenty times each a day
if I breathe slow enough I can
feel it inside my chest, like
the drop of a hat or the
sound of a smoke alarm or
the turn of my car key or the
way you look past so vacantly
when I know that you can see me

I'm driving through familiar highways
that manage to take me to a foreign place
as if I'm headed to you
freshly washed feet and ***** sheets
inside of my catalogue apartment
every item inside belongs to someone else
but every part of me once did too
I'm sorry that I wholeheartedly believe
there’s something to say about being
old and new at the same time