I wake up in your twin sized bed-
I know I have been dreaming.
there's puddles in the bed, on the kitchen floor,
in the palm of my hands, you look at me with eyes
I'm not sure I recognize.
we've barely met but I slide my fingers in anyway,
and this time I see your eyes where I've seen them before:
rolled into the back of your head.
I wake up in your bed again and immediately
I know I have been dreaming.
I'm covered in sweat and *** (how many times have I written that)
it smells like B/O and cigarettes (this time in a good way)
we can't find the pipe and a nug of **** ended up in my water.
I look around for things to write about later
and notice refrigerator magnets.
I spell my name and leave.
the other day I was laughing and I thought:
what if this is as good as it gets?
it's all in the perspective, the way you look at it,
because I didn't mean it in a bad way but
we both would have taken it as such.
the other day I was crying and I thought:
I want a cigarette.
I don't smoke, they make me sick,
but I bought a pack and smoked one
and a half before calling anyone back.
I want to smile without feeling like a shark,
my nails are as sharp as their teeth but most
of the time I feel like my voice is really a bark,
the other day I was sitting quiet and I thought:
I never want to dilute ever again.
is saving an antonym or a synonym for binge?
I want to believe I'm saving the best for last
but I'm only focused on how many bites I have left.
I consume faster than you can even think so
I like foods that require me to eat slowly,
the hardness of over toasted bread that *****
up your mouth when you bite into it, sour candies,
charcuterie boards that let me play with my food,
concentration on something other than the **** chewing.
the punchline is I've been dieting on and off for
three years but didn't start to lose weight until I stopped
I once kissed a girl who told me sometimes it
seemed like I was devouring her, I was
embarrassed at first until I realized
I'm just in a constant state of overindulgence -
tongue in my mouth
snacks in my sheets
I'm gnawing on you, gnawing on me,
still ******* starving
I have all the strain of being full but with none of the satisfaction.
if I can put what I'm feeling into words
I can get rid of it, I think, I'm going to
try that instead of what I've been doing
I want to live a hundred different lives
starting over every time I feel complacent
give reincarnation a jump start and
decide to feel new instead of numb
I'm not happy so I start searching with
such intensity it scares me off instead
is there clarity in another place? I think
there's an inherent problem with searching
looking through piles of clothes and stacks
of paper and boxes of ******* you should
have thrown away, I would have, I live in
a twelve by twelve room with ten belongings
my best friends neighbor is a hoarder, I
wonder if he can't think through a thought
without having to stop to catch his breath too
you’re the only one who has ever made it seem less daunting
she tells me not to leave but
there’s no cold water in this
entire city and my throat has
been sore for centuries. I’m not
me if I’m not thirsty, calculating
the difference between our
languages and the chance well
ever find a way to communicate,
my mouth is like the Sahara and
there’s really nothing that I can do.
I’m not me if I’m not yearning,
looking for subliminal messages
inside of afternoon delights that
only mean we both drank beer
on our one hour lunch break,
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able
to breathe in this place the
same way again. at least not
without a planned escape route
in every building, every street,
every ******* bar, and it’s been
a terrible way to live thus far