nobody gives a **** about me
but that's okay
because i don't care about them anyway
so it works out nicely.

i talked to a boy
with blue eyes today on the phone
its his birthday
and he told me stories about home
and i find i only ever
find reassurance in his voice.

he was the only one walking me home
as we swayed from midday gulps of *****
our legs itchy and imprinted
with the echoes of laying on grassy hills.

he would watch me smoke cigarettes
and look at the sun filtering through the smoke
as we ate a pint of cherry vanilla ice cream
and broke the spoon.

he'd watch as i destroyed myself and breathed in my
recklessness as though it were oxygen,
he'd always be there beside me
when i would balance on top of the small
awnings over the tall bridge,
and wait for the wind to knock me down into the raging
river below.

i wan't to cry and shed off this mortal skin
so i can sleep peacefully in my pajamas
of rattling bones
in some sort of paradise away
from
this tiresome earth.

i am too vast to be squeezed into this small
body

please sing me to sleep.

"remember when we used to bury worms
in the ground like a funeral
because it was the most contradictory thing we could do?
burying something that thrives in the earth like its dead,"

when he said goodbye,
he said i love you
and i said i love you too
because it was the most natural thing
i could do.