I'm not ideal—I am irritation.
The words are steel with implication,
Bite my heel for malformation.
I am not real—I am animation.

Why do you speak my name at night?
though i can't see you, i feel you in my
cold belly
in my cold hands
in my deceased mind,
touching me with your hollow words
but why can't i see you?
how long have you been dead?
i've been dead a thousand years
where are you then?
don't be afraid
dead ones can't die
twice
speak my name
one more time
hold my hand
and drag me with you
wherever you
may be right now
because i'm sure it's quite
better than
here.

and leaving all the you --
the sweatshirts
and the cologne
and the memories --
on the curb.

yesterday i was alone and walking down some tunnel
that was the opposite of crowded and yet i felt as if i took up the whole space and more
and my words ran long lines, longer than my normal short thoughts
breaking up in weird places
and then for the first time in a long time my mind spoke with my body instead of my soul
and my voice was coming back at me from the concrete walls
and i realized
i was talking to myself and i was answering myself and even as the conversation continued
i thought, all these times i’ve called myself crazy and now i’m proving my theories right
but there’s nobody here to bear witness to the fact
that i am arguing the existence of my own sanity
and i fell silent only when i encountered another human being and suddenly
i felt ashamed, even though the words i had been saying
were nothing short of some sort of honest truth, and actually
i kind of liked being crazy and i vowed that the next time i find myself
really, truly alone
i’m gonna check in on how i’m feeling
because my voice seems to know me better than i know myself
and i’d like to know myself

he told me about how ***** his family's money was
stocks under the table and
overcharging black girls
to pull out their babies
i told him he didn't reflect that at all,
and he said he tried to keep his head out of the clouds
as if what i'd said
had been a compliment
as if it wasn't my way of saying
he was too boring
to have a story like that.