i think my heart
grew strings
trying to forget you.

i think people die because they're all used up. whether they're 18 or 80, something inside them has run out of fuel. something inside them wants to be loved, or idolized, or immortalized or whatever they're after and they've run out of whatever makes it happen. so they die or they **** themselves and they fulfill their greatest desire; to be lost, to be mourned, and to escape the void they've been digging themselves out of their entire lives. six feet under.

i could write so many ******* poems
about your stupid,
******* face.

to ****** someone by
crying for them.

I can feel you rotting inside my teeth
Breaking my bite and clenched smile
You’ve stayed too long inside
A clean mouth

Spitting you out
Washing it in

My pockets are lined with paper
My finger holds the stone
That knows me better than
Better than my
Silver bone

a relapse
is like reheating coffee on the stove
hoping it tastes so stale
you won't want to drink it anymore

but even then, I
will pour it on my skin and
hate myself for days.

I woke up warm today—
and your skin smelled like
coffee.

I have always
hated
the sign of caffeine
in the morning
(and you know this).


but one day you will be gone
and all I will crave
is your coffee skin
in the morning.

I woke up cold today—
like the *** of coffee
you left on the counter
last monday.

we are nothing but the wind
as it howls to the wolf
that's baffled by the sun
and every blessed bullet