georgia summers are so heavy and hot
that breathing is a chore,
which is something i never remember until fall.
four months of bleached bones and choking on gravel
spit me gasping and exhausted into every mid-september,
when the sudden lightness in the air is so hard to trust
that i flood my own lungs
and set fires in my throat because
i don't know how to live
when things are easy.

it has been one hundred and ninety six weeks
since the last time i used ****** and
one hundred and thirty days since my last cigarette and
twelve hours since my last drink.
it has been fifty seven months since i last kissed you,
but when i think about relapse,
all i can taste is your tongue.
i told you i never loved you
half as much as i loved drugs, but
you've been dead almost five years
and i'm still writing eulogies.
i don't even know if i miss you.
maybe mourning is just easier to swallow
than the truth,
that i have felt this way ever since i can remember,
that maybe i have never been able to breathe
because maybe i was not built to last.

so far i've killed every plant i've ever grown,
but the basil and green onions i planted this summer are still thriving
somehow.
i meant to abandon them when i moved,
but my roommate brought them in amongst my things and
in my last run to pick up odds and ends,
i put them in my car.
i still don't know why.
i haven't watered those plants in weeks but
i did bring them outside and it has rained enough this month
that somehow they're still growing,
some sort of proof that something living
can survive being mine.
maybe so can i.
maybe if i **** up all the sunlight i can find
and fight for every scrap of survival,
drink up all the water i can grab to sustain me through the dry days,
maybe i can also be okay.
maybe i can thrive.

i have not yet learned how to want to live,
but i am still alive,
and i guess that means
there's time.

i drove to your old house today
and even though i KNEW your family
had moved out and that
you were still in Europe i looked to see if the front light was on
(it wasn't).
there were white christmas lights framing the door i used to wait at
while you ran 30 minutes late for everything and i chain smoked and
hoped i'd get to see your mom soon.
i couldn't tell if those horrible neighbors who wanted to put your dog down
still lived next door but i hope they do
and that the people who moved in to your old house
are horrible and those people have to suffer at their expense.

i feel like a sunburn waiting to happen
and my teeth have looked so white lately.

i let you see my body last week;
every part (or as much as i could fit in a 4 inch screen)
and my teeth have looked so white lately.

If you see me with this big white notebook in my arms
it's because I can't get you off my mind
and I want to write down
every stupid poem that I think of
just in case it's a masterpiece

You're my favorite
  ****** cover.
Sing for paint drizzle.
  Kick me in the leaf
    stuffed gutter.
Put me aside. Pull me aside.
  Tell me you've kinda lied.
Tell me you're kinda sad.
  Tell me you don't
    have a future
  and that you're
    kinda glad.

I love you--I want you dead.
  I want you dead. Why'd you
gotta me feel free
  and pretty?

You're my favorite
  failed abortion--
pure shock value, baby.
  Your past is a ****.
I want you to be a
  plastic bag
so I can suffocate myself
  with you--
pure shock value, baby.

I love you. I love you.
  I love you.
Welcome to getting wet.
  *******. *******.
I want to ******* like
  I have cancer--
pure shock value, baby.

La, La, La
  Go **** yourself.
La, La, La
  Go **** yourself.
La, La, La
  Everyone is a drum solo
by a numb drummer.

On, Dancer!
  On, Cupid!
*** is fun!
  No violence?
Stupid!

Under a younger sun
                                perhaps
                     ­                         You
might have saved my life.

                       xox
                       grim reaper