when i was a kid
i’d carry rocks
in my shirt
now i carry
secrets in my brain
and old scars
in my memories
and i’m ******* tired of
holding the weight
of useless things
in my tired arms

any song you sing makes me cry
you always put my name into the lyrics
and i wonder if you do that
when i’m not around

i can’t help but build illusions
in my old lonely brain
but please tell me you’re not one of them
or go on and bury me in the ground

don’t hold anybody else’s hand
don’t kiss them goodnight
just sing to me your sad songs
i can’t live without the sound

i’ve heard that black holes eat stars for snacks
i wonder if black holes can die
as insignificantly as a fly who sat on my arm
or a butterfly who splat against my windshield
alive one second and gone to some other place the next
maybe gone to nowhere
where do black holes go when they die
where have my old eyes gone to
where are you
and do you ever think about
what happens to the stars that blackholes swallow
like the tongue i swallow into my throat
when i’m kissing someone i don’t want to
do you ever wonder
where a black hole goes to when it’s gone

i woke up this morning
(like every other)
tangled in my sheets
gripping my pillow so tight
that my knuckles were white
hair in my face
and a sigh escaping my lips
my legs were sore
and my heart hurt
vaguely in the distant
corners of my consciousness
and i wondered
if you had ever woken
quite the same as i do
and for the same reason

i remember every bug i ****
i feel like a murderer
the god of their tiny lives
that decided at random
it was their time die

i remember every person i kiss
i remember what it tasted like
what sounds they made
if they opened their mouth
or ****** on my lips
i remember the look in their eyes
right before
i remember their heavy breathing
their smiles or their tears

i remember every day i wasted
when i ran away by myself
and kept thinkingthinking far too much
about love and death and science and God
until i was crazy
and sang songs to myself for hours
out of tune and in between
drags of my cigarette

i remember everything you say
i remember the songs you like
and the food you hate
i remember the weird dreams you’ve had
and the people who have hurt you
i remember the way you sleep
and how your eyes look when
you need to cry
but try to stay strong

i remember how i realized i love you
in a crowded room of strangers
how i stayed silent
and tried to convince my mind to do the same

poetry is great
because it eliminates
the lies that we tell ourselves
it is my friend
late at night
when nobody else is
it is my lover
when romance curses me

it is scary
when i write
the scariest thing i can imagine
but i do it all the time
i am strong
as much as i can be
but on paper
i can be vulnerable finally
despite the shame of it all

nobody knows the part of the story
where Jesus
and Satan
lusted for eachother like common ****
the devil kept his lips puckered
but Jesus
He used tongue

so does that make french kissing
heavenly?
or does that make Satan
a *****?