I know you're not my fault
And I know I couldn't have stopped it
But it's so hard to believe
When I'm always reminding myself
How connected we all are
And there's a weight once a month
Where you'll come up again
Where I think I see you on the streets
Before I remember that you're gone
Frozen in time as someone
I thought I couldn't like
But now in emptiness
All I want
Is to know who you were
To know what pulsed through your mind
Before it shut off
But of course I know already
I deny it of myself everyday
But it's always there
Throbbing and ready to take me
So I flinch or wince
And push it away
But the only end I see
Is one where it wins

there was something that painted the image too well
the image of a gray damp basement
and you sitting on an old arm chair
as you let the smoke surround you
the smoke so many say will heal

so you let it all sink in
the smoke into your skin
you can feel your hands start to go numb
and you've heard this could bring panic
you've heard this too many times
it's almost as if it's one of the reasons you started
and one of the reasons you keep doing it
as if maybe the next time this happened
you could blame it on some substance
and convince yourself for 10-15 minutes
that you were really okay

it's all too easy to forget

to forget about the color of the clouds mixed with blue
to forget about how important fruit can taste
to forget the sound of your voice
the sound of any voice

you're blocking out the sound of the alarm clock
you're convincing the sun to let you be
you've convinced this of almost everyone
with the rise of blood pressure and a rising tone
there wasn't much convincing to do in the first place
with almost a snap of your fingers
and a slip of the wrist
they've all leave the room and ask,
"what's wrong with them?"

they don't know that they're just another reason
for black nights
or red mornings
with a haze
afternoons with too many cups of coffee
because again
you're trying to give yourself an excuse
anything else to blame for quivering hands
anything else
besides
a lack of attention
a lack of affection
taking yourself seriously
letting yourself
be taken seriously
to accept
the off putting sighs
and to try
to keep trying

after midnight in a town we’ve never been
we have miles floating off our backs
and miles reaching out with
their long ghostly fingernails
to pull us back to somewhere we know
there’s a thousand tapping fingers
on steering wheels owned
by hands we will never hold
but i can’t but wonder what brought them here
why they’re driving down the same streets as us
who were they with before they left so late
how were they feeling when the door closed
and how are they feeling now
that their brakes go on and off
like a warning signal or a stone message
what sorts of waves are pulling up
on the small bumps of their forearms
how much longer until we get home
and are we witnessing a final stretch
or a final attempt at escape
there’s no way of ever knowing
so the window remains slightly cracked
and i’m breathing in love
like being shown something so wonderful
like i somehow swallowed hope and fear
and can now only wait

monday -
     i slept for three hours
     and the weekend only existed in smog
     the rattling came through my bones
     like an old friend i had forgotten
tuesday -
     last night i had taken something
     to put me out of this for half a day
     i woke up and was convinced
     that the virus had finally left
wednesday -
     a twitch of the wrist can make me believe
     that nothing could ever be the same
     yet i still can meet new people
     and speak with them like i knew them yesterday
thursday -
     the cars rolling by the window at night
     cast lights that look like daggers as
     they drift slowly towards my toes
     then disappear behind the walls
friday -
     there's a slight ringing in my ears
     but the sun always appears to be
     glowing just behind the trees
     and it's always there
     it's always there

She woke up with a rage pulsing in her fingertips / She woke up with thunder in her blood and she couldn’t remember how it got there / but it had gotten in there / She pulled back the curtains thinking the sun would be the cure / There wasn’t any cure / But she didn’t know that yet / There was only monopolizing care / plenty of care at the urge of a button / but the sun / she thought / Surely this must be enough / so it was pulled back / highlighting every wrong / It wasn’t a cure / It was never going to be a cure / just a mirror for her to see where all the harm had gone / to remind her that it was again time to sweep it up / under the pile of unwashed clothes / under the weapons / under the reassurances / She woke up with a rage pulsing in her fingertips / She woke up surrounded by clay walls / and she had no other option / but to claw her way out

coffee stained poetry
and an unsettling feeling in my left hand
the humidity makes it hard
to do most things I enjoy
like walking and breathing
in the other room there's
an innocent one sleeping
he doesn't know
I spilled some coffee
I'm taking unfinished breaths
these rooms are feeling like home
but I don't yet trust the streets
what would you wish for
if you were stranded
coffee stained poetry
but mostly release

there's a woman standing in tight blue
by the edge of the curb
like there's something in her throat 
her cheeks are flushed
the color of a hault 
she looks to be choking
she looks to see if we can tell
she looks down and toys with her fingers
but we keep going
it's only unclear sidewalks 
trash cans with faces etched in
we don't stop for anyone 
sunday my hand was on the light
and I could feel it dancing between my fingertips
a soft threatening pull
a cry to be in darkness
but then I heard my name
and left nothingness
to be uncontrollable

i hear your voice echoing sunlight through my head,
and i’ve been so uninspired lately -
not uninspired in a gray waves through the sky kind of way,
but where the waves hold a slight teal tint as they carry me
through time and whisper that change is coming,
that change is okay. and it’s not entirely fair
that i feel compelled to start every sentence in the middle,
or that every story i tell doesn’t seem to end,
but instead just trails off and twists through my fingers as i try to grasp it
but end up simply watching it float out the window
as i start to see a fan spinning on the ceiling then remember
i’m not home, or telling myself i’ll be better when i’m home
but realizing i’m already there,
and that all i can do is just fall asleep.
if only you or i knew
what was happening inside, in the world -
what we dreamt about or how we’re always mindlessly
throwing ourselves away or shooting expensive thoughts
into an open conversation, hoping someone will pick up
exactly what it is we need although we never let anyone know.
and i’ve been so uninspired lately -
but in a way where my fingers just can’t seem
to speak fast enough or are trying so hard to go slower.
so i shoot up from rest, still half stuck in a fantasy,
and i’m spilling out all over the bed, with no one
or no sounds to stitch me back up to how i was before,
but i’m not afraid and i’m not ashamed
to have someone knock and think i said “come in,”
then enter to see notebooks and pens scattered across the floor
with nothing on them but exclamation points
and cross hatches through the question marks.
because i’ve been breathing again, breathing into something,
and i’m trying to make this mayhem form into something
like the orchestra before a performance
behaving wildly out of key with everyone in separate corners
before we all come back to meet each other once again
and provide ourselves with that half a second of silence
before the sun rises over the crowd.

It's mid-september and fall will officially be here in a few days. You wake up on a Saturday after just the right amount of sleep. You're the first one awake. You walk to the bathroom and when your feet touch the tile, they're actually cold. You bask in this because you haven't felt cold in what seems like years. This summer was brutal and relentless. But your feet are cold now. So after the bathroom you go back into your bedroom and put on some warm socks and slip on your coziest pair of leggings. You feel goosebumps forming on your arms so you also pull on a sweater you haven't worn in months. You decide to check the weather on your phone - 52 degrees, 14% humidity. You feel a brief yet overwhelming sensation of joy as you smile to yourself. You walk into the living room and look out the window. You think about how soon the world will be inundated in burnt oranges, dark reds, and crisp yellows. You prepare the drip coffee maker for the first time in a while. It's been too hot to drink anything other than something cold. The machine stutters for a moment then soon fills the room up with that incredible smell. You pour the coffee into a large mug and it warms your fingers. You hold the mug a little tighter as you look out the window again. The sun is still making it's way into the sky and it seems more pleasant than it has in a while.The air is still and there are no clouds needed to hide the intensity of the sun which finally seems to want to allow the world to breathe. You take your first sip of coffee. It's warm going down and you feel transported to the future - looking in on yourself as you experience contentment.

don't turn yourself into a bomb
buildings shattered into ashes
the motor wake and the sensational guilt
jittering fingers and itchy palms
that will refuse to feel again;
“your life is not your own.”
don't turn yourself into a bomb
all of them will grow out their hair
rooms going unclean for months
and the question will get passed about;
“why?” for you to you, forever
and everyone was so fond
imagining sawyer as a bomb
as he lurks in the ceiling tiles
peering into shattered ash
an explosive in the sky
an explosive in every home

there's static when in motion and heart rates lying down
split off on the sides for the chance of someone else
it's been several years and i still dream that you're gone
it's a life without speaking, without existing in tongues
the proof of living matches that of exhaustion
of riled up times doing something to force a mountain
but the pit is still there and it always will be
it's for no reason at all or the reason is nothing
still trying to know that it's gone without reason
but every notch down at least feels like a breath
or a step towards oblivion or even blue skies
it's ******* the poison out to make the blood clear
it's fumbling around for the bump in the night
and packing it in with everything to avoid a good talk
we're lying on top of nothing because the beams were stripped away
we're singing into darkness with salt passed off as happiness
and warmth only creeps between our toes when it's uninvited
and despite this growing landmark between countries
we can all still manage to fall asleep to the rain

why do i keep imagining you
in the hospital
        (you’ve probably never been)
                                        (for you)
                        (for)
                                (you)
shaking from something
        other than the temperature
        maybe seven years ago
                (maybe last month)
                (i’ll never know)
                        (you)
you have eyes with tragedy
        but so do i
        so does she
                        (last year)
the pounding heart of trauma
        my quick attention to
        your quivering palms
                        (it’s too easy)
                        (and could be hunger)
                        (caffeine, a natural situation)
but to me it will always be
chemistry or a bad reaction

the lights going down in a theatre when the movie is about to start
the way a room full of people can hold its breath
casual desk chats with my coworkers
lying on my bed with my closest friends after a night out dancing
brushing skin with beautiful people on my way to the bathroom
handshakes from new people
sitting in a crowded train where no one speaks a word
crying in the bar when girls just wanna have fun comes on
nights full of wine and movies and jokes with friends
watching everyone run inside when it starts to rain
being in a loud and warm restaurant after just the right combination of alcohol and food
hearts packed together pretending we're all alone
hugs from my family and friends
playful cheek kisses
the kindness of drunk girls in the bathroom
something weird or funny happening on the train and everyone looking at each other trying not to laugh
listening to new music as the city goes by my window
seeing how happy people get when their food finally comes
quips we say to no one in particular
hugging in the street before getting into an uber
sitting in a cafe for hours talking about the state of the world
how everyone seems to be smiling on a sunny and nice day
the look on anyone's face when they tell me it's going to be okay

i remember riding with you
through yellow wildflowers
during a time that wasn't mine
i had no sense of direction
and inside the kettle was on
the loneliness was a comfort
i had closed my eyes and smiled
you were in my ears with tea
and you were only mine

i.
trapped in cliches about exploding stars
and only existing in sporadic stagnant structure
phrases slip with every blink of an eye
and my home is emptying out day by day
things packed away nowhere to be found
at least for a while we need a break
to become afraid of a month
to become afraid of inconsistent communication
to become afraid after the click of a phone
reminders of anniversaries i want to forget
guilt of everything feeling connected
dry eyes, dry mouth, a headache
the inability to take in a full breath

ii.
jumping off of a moving train
thinking there would be no tracks
but it’s exactly where you stumbled into the woods
with a trail of letters coming from behind
it was too easy to follow you home
now the trail is thicker and deeper than before
lined with white lilies and nicotine
a society obsessed with blame and guilt
it was a matter of time for someone
to find company in 80 proof at 40%
you’re in the hands of the trees now
and the trees can be so reckless
when handling something so fragile

iii.
now there’s ash and thorns in the hallways
and bridges we never knew existed
these days the sun seems to set around noon
and we’re all neglecting our duties
the thought of the past rips the fabric apart
faces are beginning to look smudged
the calendar days are all cleared off
the stomping sounds are getting closer
the glowing eyes in the corner are getting brighter
and the darkness is almost comforting
but all the consolation is becoming white noise
why do you walk with weights in your heels
don’t you know this floor is made of glass?

a being disconnected is not simply glowing
it's burning from within and radiating sound
the gorgeous flames are untouchable
you're sitting at a distance just to pretend
the gold and charm is crawling under your skin
then later on when the sun is setting
you can go back to the shadowed room
and when you need it the light will go off
the crackling fire won't keep you awake
if you keep the beautiful tragedy far enough away
the flames won't choke you in your sleep
leaving you in the morning
with a beam of sunlight on your cheek
while your hand is quivering from the cold

do you think she can hear our prayers to her
I can't speak but my voice is hooked onto the wind
I just wanted a better place to be
but we can't stop her from taking us away from here
and maybe that's not as horrible as we thought
there's a dry terrible taste on my lips now
I've forgotten what came before this
a bird chirps hopefully just outside
her hand's around my throat now and I can't breathe
but I'm smiling while looking into her eyes
because I still trust her to hold me
even though now my legs are going numb
maybe it's just so that I can't feel
the rising water all around

this is improv
don't think about it
don't imagine the long term
say yes
questions later
focus on now
focus on you
what do you need now
time and company
deep breaths at
midnight
there's something
about
that train going the other way
that makes it
worthwile

(hi,) hi. (how was your weekend?)
i spent in on nothing. i spent it
trying to cover up a sensation.
(i went for a run), or (i went to the gym.)
it felt like static inside my head. it
felt like static through my legs. what
kind of free time is spent feeling
like static, like pins poking and
needles pulling? (then i made dinner
for the family.) i spent time in a toxic
hole that people have helped me
out of many times before. i just keep
diving back in. you should learn
by now, you should learn. you’re
doing everything you can to learn.
it’s just not sinking in. it’s okay.
sometimes there are just topics
we’ll never be able to understand.
(walked the dog, went to the store.)
sat in space for hours and watched
the sun rise, watched the sun set,
wondered how it became two
useless days later already. guess it’s
time for bed. (so what did you do?)
oh, nothing much, pretty quiet.

I need to crawl my way out of this hole I shoved myself into
I need to stop eating dirt and pushing myself farther down
and then screaming and sobbing and wondering how
I got myself so stuck so far down so breathless so hopeless
I need to find a way to distinguish myself from the air around me
I need to find a way to make sure I don’t float away
I need to find a better answer to people asking what’s wrong
better than holding onto glossy eyes and twisting the blade
I need a weight to remind me if I float too high I can’t breathe

simultaneously
dreading and wishing
noon

a collarbone earthquake
an early onset everything
bad publicity is such

disappointment in
timelines abstract i am full of
lines just askew

for fragment meals
songs entwined in a rib cage
keep waiting, waiting

made obtuse
another day another weak
twitch in a wrist

three conversations
leaning against the wall
sitting on hands

rain is always rain
widen the canals
before my toes go numb

a boy walked onto the earth
on the anniversary of innocence
the sun was falling behind the tallest building
his toes crinkled inwards
as the fire drew away
it was no different than any other day
despite the indifference
despite the repeated callings
despite the shortening hours
the warmth was calling from within
but the ice seemed to beckon as well
so he took off his shoes
and stuck his toes into the snow
the cold became something
after feeling like an emptiness
the cold turned to pain
and he closed his eyes tightly
the cold made his eyes water
it spread throughout his body
shooting lightning through his skin
he lifted up his arms
or felt them lifted above
it was nothing but painless needles in the air
the fire started burning again
he grabbed onto maturity
and bellowed towards the sinking light

we're at stage one:

you say, "the light
is hurting my eyes
now more than ever."

i squeeze your hand
in mine and whisper,
"let's make it worse
together." you take a breath
so deep it rattles
the entire
room.

i can't see past
four years ago, but your eyes
are closer to mine
than i've ever felt them before.

i can feel your heart
in your ribs, knowing
it used to be higher.

i tell you that i had a dream
the other night
about us falling apart,
about you
losing your lungs,
losing your mind,
feeling worse
than i ever could, and
letting a missing love
lead you
to the glistening
dark
blue stones.

I'll lay down again
and let my walls expand
to let in all the oxygen
from every argument
and souls will speak 
like clouds cluttering 
around my eyelids;
I'll exhale everything
towards the stars
and hope that by the time
this sky spins to you
your nose will twitch
you'll look up
and think of me
sending over
just one more year.

they told me she was walking through the hallways
but when i looked up all i could see was her train
like it had been dipped in the blackest ink
then dragged through the most silver of stars
we were talking like we were becoming royalty
and we could never know what was buzzing
underneath the veil or where she was walking -
or whether she was walking towards something
or leaving someone to glare as she went on
i smiled and tried to agree with the storm
but she looked over her shoulder at me
and it was spring and winter all at once
when for a splintered second in the hall
i thought i had seen the entrance to the place
where someone so young could understand us
more than she could understand herself -
where poetry for the less concerned could be seen
or understood in a way we never thought possible;
because we could see our bones lying in front of ourselves
but we couldn't recognize our faces in the mirror

I’m walking through you
remembering when
the snow made it hard to stay still
Now everyone seems to be slipping
when a few yesterdays ago we’re remembered as
perfect silhouettes
endlessly tracing ourselves into the earth
We weren’t without fault then either
but from tomorrow it seems like paradise

it’s only 10pm in fact not even 10pm
i’ve been home for the day the evening the night
i had to leave work early at 1:30pm because i couldn’t do it
i don’t even know what it was
but i couldn’t do it
i couldn’t talk to anyone
i couldn’t talk to you
i couldn’t think straight or focus or even write out my name
what is the point of all your confusion all your pondering
keeps lifting me higher, lifting me higher
and nonsense songs play in the background
i’m not even sure i know where i am anymore, anyone
out there i gave a confession
something you didn’t need to know
something you wish you didn’t know
stop popping balloons before they’re blown
stop popping balloons before they’re blown
stop googling “saddest movies” whenever you’re bored
stop looking at lists online that might as well be titled “don’t watch this”
but you do anyway
you will always anyway
what does it mean when your only goal is to have your fingers go numb
to have your vision start to blur
when you see more of yourself in someone else than you ever thought possible
beds turning to rocking chairs
a perpetual haze
who even thinks before they write anymore
who even thinks right anymore
go to bed earlier and the sun will shine all day
close your **** door
the screeching can be heard from the street
the screeching can be heard in the street lamps
the bed is falling off to one side
the bed isn’t falling on my side
one hundred years ago this was a midlife crisis
now it’s just a desperate attempt to keep going and going
my sweater is curled up in a ball in the corner
waiting to keep me warm
as if it could ever keep me warm
the books like fallen leaves are strewn all over
a half read chapter where i say “yes” then stop forever
i’m terrified of how much strength it’ll take
of how long the “to do” list is going to be
when i look it over one last time and tell people that went well
there’s not enough and too much all inside of me
a void is a cliche word but it’s there and it’s swimming with dust
everything seems ironic
everything seems like some crazy twisted comparison
but it’s just the bottle
it’s just the haze
it’s just time for bed
then it’s a new day
a new week
a new something

there's a quick blink of a conversation
and no one thinks anything of it
but it's years of confusion put to rest.
it's disregarding the location of anger
and the misinterpretation
of countless tapping fingers.
a few days ago the trees raised up
outside my bedroom window
and for a moment i felt like flying.
its a cold calm realization
when everything is temporary.
i'm adjusting - from flinging madness
and having something stay,
to keeping this pending,
keeping the books open,
holding out for rambling
while trying to fill the silence.