loneliness sits like an island of cold feet;
loneliness stirs like a maelstrom
of hot knives;
when I am touched
either gently,
or forcefully,
all of my ‘heart’
flees the blanket of intimacy.

It is much easier
being alone.
It gets much harder
most every day;

but today
a stranger
with a face like an alabaster rose
walked past me, smiling coyly,

and I wept,

unraveled

to be ravaged,
to be loved.

once bitten, twice shy.
makes perfect sense
but i'm pressing the teethmarks
she left on my chest
and i've missed this tender aching.
i've missed the misery that
summarises me when we're apart.
infatuated.
cross my masticated beating heart
stick a needle in my eye
once bitten, twice shy
i'll try to fall in love once
before i die.

it's a slow burn, easy to ignore
you're slowly sinking into
the teeth of your bedsprings.
you don't hate the sun but you
don't remember asking it to rise.
you enjoyed last night but tonight
it might not be so easy to fall asleep.
and if it is then you've not left your bed
for the best part of a week,
it's been one of the worst weeks in
your life.
you don't hate the night but you
don't remember asking the sun to set,
your eyes have just become
accustomed to the light.
you're slowly sinking into
the teeth of your bedsprings.
you're not even eating, you'll lose
all strength in your arms
and when you want to get up
and you want to shower
and you want to eat
and you want to feel clean
and you want to breathe fresh air
you'll be trapped in your mattress
with the bedsprings wrapped around
your spinal chord.
it's a slow burn, it's easy to ignore.

I AM SUGAR WATER THE KIND THAT BEES DRINK THE KIND THAT IS MADE FROM BUTTERFLY SPIT I AM LIZARD I AM BEETLE
FROG LEGS AND RABBIT SPINES TASTE SO GOOD WHEN YOU’RE STARVING. THEY SLIDE SO FAR DOWN YOUR THROAT I THINK I MIGHT CHOKE AND DIE, I THINK I MIGHT PASS OUT AND I THINK I MIGHT SLOW DOWN.
WE ARE DRAGON HORN WE ARE MARBLE WE ARE HER DEAD PARENTS. I DON’T THINK SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT. I THINK SHE DESERVED A HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND A BREATHING FATHER AND A SEVENTH GRADE.
NONE OF IT REALLY MATTERS WHEN YOU REALIZE YOUR HEADSTONE WILL SAY
BORED GIRL, DEAD GIRL, HUMAN GIRL DIED MARCH 2017. NONE OF IT REALLY MATTERS WHEN YOU NOTICE HOW BADLY SHE SAYS YOUR NAME
I DIED ON
TENTH STREET, I DIED IN
ALABAMA SOMEWHERE, SOMEWHERE WITH IV OR MAYBE WITH GEM. I DIED IN THE WASHING MACHINE AND NEVER CAME BACK. HE NEVER CAME BACK.
SHE PROBABLY CRIED, DIDN’T SHE? SHE PROBABLY DOESN’T LIKE TRAINS SHE PROBABLY DOESN’T LIKE FUNERALS BUT NO ONE REALLY DOES. EVERYONE IS
WAITING WE ARE ALL WAITING. NOTHING IS HAPPENING EXCEPT SHOWER WATER, CANTALOUPE, FERAL CATS. NOTHING IS HAPPENING EXCEPT PURGATORY AND CHEWING FAT WE WILL WAIT ALL OUR LIVES AND SOMEDAY I WILL KNOW ALL THE SECRETS

this is a sun
and also simultaneously a black hole
and all we ever do is pretend to make metaphors out of astronomy
When really the only person who was really original when he talked about the stars was some scientists thousands of years ago
i am jealous of him because he could probably grow a beard
and was a male
and had original ideas
and did i mention the ****** hair
The last time I remembered what the sun was like was last Sunday
and you were eating an ice cream
and wearing those shoes that remind me of fish
Everyone I know is scared of fish.
I feel sorry for the poor fish.
Your eyes can swim better than any fish ever will.
your skin is full of volcanoes and lava
and it burns me like nothing else will ever burn.
but your eyes are fish, who live in the ocean.
they know the blue
and that's why i always forgive you.
Because your skin may burn
and your fingers may act like falling trees
and your voice may constantly be crying to the night
But your eyes are the silver fish who guide me to the seafloor.
And in the ocean, your voice is silent and your fingers are still.

i want you to know
when you don't write back
i fill in the blank pages myself
and you say terrible things.
i write 'til white paper turns black and
every word drips with the vindictive
spit that rolls right off your tongue
like it's natural. like you're filled to the brim
with venom, and it spills from the tip
of your fountain pen.
and then i remember when
i receive a letter that isn't laced with
my insecurities, there's not a bad bone
in your body. i see you smiling
and all the venom drains from your teeth.
i remember why i'm so scared
of losing touch.
write back soon.

I've got wines in my ***** and if you have the coins, I may let the pavement leave scars on my joints.