i take my first bite,
smile because
i am about to
mar something whole.
it sits against my tongue,
hard palate freezing,
ice cream melting,
strawberry crushed to pulp.
cream goes down my throat.

i take a second bite,
wait like the first time,
get impatient, chew—
seeds get stuck in my teeth.
a third bite, a fourth,
fifth, pause—
hover and hesitate.
the air is cold
against my lips.

i bite—strawberry,
cream, seeds, ice, oh—
i hit wood.

hello, i am a
writer, i am happy.
look at me smile.
look at me,
look at me—

no it’s not, you
dumb **** shut up,
you’re worthless,
you’re worthless,
you think you can be happy—

i am sad sometimes.
all the time—
half the time—
my lifetime—
where is the lie?

i am.
i am.
okay, i’ll be fine,
it’s fine,
okay, okay?
okay. yes, yes,
yesyesyes

look at me, i am
worthless stupid
******* amazing
shut up and look,
look at me don’t,

i don’t care i
don’t care i don’t
love you yes i do
i don’t care of course
it’s all i think about

stop stop stop,
don’t look at me,
i am too great,
too great, look,
look, i am on top,
the world is mine—

only in my head
only in my head
only in my head
shut up, shut up,
be quiet, i am tired!

leave me alone.
i don’t want to be alone.
help me be alone,
go away,
please.

please.
please.
please.

[…I don’t know what you mean.]

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing.”

*where is the lie?

i am not a poet.
i do not take thoughts,
spin them on the page,
and give them breath
the way a little man
spins gold from straw.

i am not a dreamer.
i do not ponder the stars,
wonder if they cry
or smile or laugh
or if the sheep dreams
of androids and muzzles.

i am not romantic,
with ideals of flowers—
carnations, forget-me-nots,
daisies—or letters of blood
with the alphabet
blazing a hole in the heart.

i am a person;
just that.
just that.

not all dreams come true;
don’t we all have moments
where we wish for better?
is that the right way to put it?

“don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
i don’t think so;
you’re thinking to yourself,
“I want to die, if only I—

killed myself"? is that
right? will that make everyone
happy? aren’t you glad that
a world like that doesn’t actually exist?

the sky in the morning
(early, early, a bit too late)
is pitch black,
a glistening scene—
obsidian and morose—
like an ink stain
on your best dress shirt;
it glimmers,
coyly breathing,
drifting, pulling,
gravity on the mind,
yanking the words
from your brain
like a crow picking
at its dinner,
like an artist
ready to melt
all over a blank canvas,
like a paradoxical thief
robbing you of your
worries and sleep.

come along with me;
say “love,”
breathe “hello,”
train your ears
on the echoes
of my breathing;
there is no such thing
as running away,
because wherever we go
we are running forward.

i can be alone;
i have been alone
for quite some time;
it’s fine, i will be
alone, but
don’t worry.
you don’t have to
pretend,
you don’t have to
stay up,
you don’t have to
console me
when i want to cry—
but thank you anyway.

is it too much to ask?
is this too much for you?
no, you say—
no, you say?
so you say, but
you mean yes.

do you call this commitment?
do you think me a comet,
(commit)
pretending
(do it)
to fall?

sink, slow
down, no,
i can’t take it,
i don’t want to take it,
help me, sorry;
don’t help me, i’m sorry

let me
   fa
      ll

(but promise to catch me)

i sleep with the moon, the moment
when the sun enters the sky.
there’s an ethereal beauty
to a blue canvas tinged with gray,
where the clouds
recollect themselves
after a long night of introspection.
there is peace.
there is my ending.
sunrise calls just
about every drop of energy
from my veins,
deposits it in my head
and waits until the setting
for it all to come alive again.
night after
night after
night.
good night.

i made a promise—
a shackle,
a chain,
a weight to bear—
inked it into my skin,
let it hover
behind my throat;
a secret agreement;
so why do i
feel like my chest
is an eternity
and a fortnight
lighter?