I'm losing track of all the different colored pills I have.

For these few hours
I close my eyes and
Radiate nothing.
The opposite
Of infinite.
I am gone.

I used to spew--
Now only leak out
In half-assed phrases
And "I like you's"

There is a diner down the street
Where we sit to talk and think.
Our own Thanksgiving:
In the middle of June
In the middle of the night,
In some god-awful town
We couldn't wait to get out of.

Do you remember?
The waitress asked if we wanted coffee.
You were so out of your body
You wept.
I apologized only for embarrassment.
Don't ruin this for me.

You looked good.
Your once sunken, steaming eyes
are bright.
Not bright enough to be a picture,
but pretty **** close.

Reach your hand across the stained table,
to touch mine grasping a pink package,
of kind-of-sweet sugar.
The clock watched my eyes look for ghosts to talk about.

You don't have to be sorry
for the night you went too far.
I know that is hard.

I'm writing you a letter now.
I'll smudge the return address.

I hope you are thankful for someone like me.

I've still got blue on my face.
I'm coming clean, and I hope you will go away.
I'm still drowning.
I have come to learn these things are better left said.

I cried when you cried
and kissed when you kissed.
Now if I died,
I'm unsure I'd be missed.

Remember me?
I told you it was OK
when it really was not OK
when you touched me
inappropriately
on my own couch
that one night
after we saw the film
about a graffiti artist.
It was not OK,
I'm still not OK.

Remember me?
I said it was no big deal
when it really was,
obviously,
a big deal
that you started liking her
instead of me.
It was a big deal,
when I asked you
to kiss me in the halls.

Remember me?
I'm not your little girl anymore.
I am seventeen years old,
and I can't breathe most nights.
Things are not OK.
Things are a big deal.
So much so,
that it is
OK.
It's fine, really.
No big Deal.

I'm running out of things to say
to the lady I pay by the day
to tell me how my life has gone to ****
to tell me, however, I should not quit.
I'm running out of ways to write
that I cannot stand the sight
of my eyes looking back into mine
the knots in the mirror when I stare at my spine.
I'm running out of ways to feel
the urge and need to ****
so I figured I ought to love instead
but all that disappoint got to my head.
I'm running out of trust to give
such a fact prevents my want to live
I wish more than anything
to feel at home again.

I don't remember much:
There was a great crash
and a sense of falling.
There was a sinking feeling
and an instinct to leave at once.
Then there came a thought,
that I had been here before.
How many times,
Walking on broken glass
It seems no matter how
soft my steps
or care to position
I still come up with ****** feet.

I don't want to be that girl:
who sits and assures
It's all right!
I don't feel a thing!
The truth is, I feel everything
(only)in dark hues
of blue and green.

I'm not quite sure:
whose fault it is.
You've given me
thoughts
like cuts to the bottom of my feet
You've given me broken glass
for my thoughts
You've given me a love
for the color of a rose
best when seen out of my veins.
You've given me everything I've wanted
And you want it back.
Tell me whose fault is that?

Open palms in passenger seats
Waiting for warmth,
the familiarity of the cracks--
calluses--that map routes
In your palms.
We go for Sunday drives,
Get lost in Daisyville.
It's romantic to say,
so you and I never could do.
Open palms in passenger seats
Waiting for relief.
Open palms in passenger seats:
close to fists
When Neon Signs are Lit,
(When my mind goes to ****).
Open palms on steering wheels,
Open eyes to Open Skies:
Still hopelessly lost in the dark.

Sitting in a circle--
though I do not take part.
A picture of youth,
a caption of distance.
A constant reminder:
things get passed around.
Like circles.
Never starting,
or ending.
On and on.

It would be naive to think
I had learned all there was to learn
Of life and love and death.
But, oh!
I never thought
I could be so mistaken
On any subject ever.
It is a hard lesson to learn,
That every lesson you have learned
Is not based in fact at all.
It would be such a relief
To have never lived at all.
To have loved at all.
To have never known the death
Of our loved one's lives.

I could count the bodies, the kisses, the stolen glances, the cotton mouths, the goosebumps, the shivers, the articles of clothing--


But I don't remember much-- that is I've tried so hard to forget-- about those nights. It's working, it's working, it's working. Just don't dwell for too long.


I never liked the way those nights painted me: Confused, embarrassed, and on the verge of insane. I can remember that room and that bed and that couch.

Had I known
When you called
We would play
I would not have
Spent the time
Figuring what
To say
Or wear

Blue Jay, you fly so bold and true.
Blue bird, I’d do anything to be like you.
You’d do anything for me?
Even if it means losing your wings?
I’m a black bird,
I will wait for the word.
Then I fly.
But you’ll perch on the branches so close to me.
I’m sorry, but it’s hard to see out here
I didn’t think I was nested near you (I hope I was).
I was?
I was!
I’m glad. I’m sad, and all in between.
I’m black and blue and teeming-
With few words from this blistered beak.

There is this constant suppression
of all my aggression
and my actions
that never make it out my mouth.
Ever since fifth grade
I have been trying so hard
not to say the things
that would boost me out.
So I became this actor
like the ones in my own scene
who glimpse at the camera
beady eyes with no soul.
I could be staring at a mirror and I-
I would never really know.

I missed my chance to breathe.
Up the stairs, you took my hands.
Close the door, in the room of no rest,
Traced my silhouette with your kiss.
You once seemed to be okay with being alone.
And even though I cry, you persist.

When we first met, I would persist.
In between sets we would talk and breathe.
I was happy, for the first time in months I was not alone.
We giggled and made praise with our hands.
That night I called you back for a public kiss.
And that night, my heart on my sleeve, I could get no rest.

And every night after that, how did I rest?
How could I still persist?
I did everything for a kiss,
How could I even breathe?
I’ve created a monster by using my own hands.
See what happens when I get left alone?

“Don’t worry,” you said “I won’t leave you alone.”
I remember you called for directions on the night of no rest,
Your voice (and doom) in my heart and hands.
You won’t pull any tricks. Nothing to worry about, you persist.
“I miss you so much I cannot breathe”
When we see the party, we kiss.

And anywhere we go (for just that night and no other) we kiss,
I was awkward, uncomfortable, and far from alone.
Those substances you seemed to breathe,
You would have been drunk enough for the both of us to justify no rest.
Justified or not, you persist,
And hold me down with your hands.

You held my individuality in your hands,
Took it away with your touch and kiss.
“Here, have this drink, and let me touch…” you still persist.
But I would rather be alone!
Please, can’t we just talk and rest?
But no, you would not let me breathe.

Only a boy like you would persist with your hands.
I tried to breathe but could kiss,
And at night, alone, I think so much of being a lid I cannot rest.