you see, when you first left,
it took such a long time to take out the shards
of glass, and fishing lines, and pieces of paper with
****** drawn hearts, and deflated balloons.
it took such a long time to find a needle and thread and sew all the
wounds.
it took days, months, years. and the stitches.
they were on my arms, legs, stomach, neck.
the scars did not heal until, until,
three years later.
you see, i put some scar cream. tried different
foundations.
placed different men’s hands and covered the scars with
bellowed ideas and bruises.


the scars have started bleeding, opened like
ripe tomatoes.
i do not have enough hands to cover them,
so i think i’ll sit here
until the bed soaks through.

I guess the reason I text you drunk at 3 in the morning is because I have so many things to say to you and I don't have the courage to say them without the aid of 151 Proof Everclear grain alcohol.

And the boy I was sharing the ***** with didn't mind me talking about you.
The Boy with the Sunshine face didn't mind hearing all about that one time you and I danced.
He didn't mind hearing about the one time you kissed me
and he didn't mind me texting you.

In the morning I laughed it off unlike my hangover.
Just like the day before,
the first thing I reached for was my pipe
and after that it was my phone.
And at 11:30 in the morning I read the text you had sent at 9 the same morning.

I guess all I really want is you.
And that's dumb to say
because I want a job
and a ranch
and maybe a dime bag.
But out of all these things I want to hold you most.
And I want to kiss your face
and touch your waists.

As much fun as I had receiving this hickey
it would be nice to have one from you.

To the Girl who Gave Me This Hickey:
Thank you,
it was fun.

sitting here
staring at these boring beige walls
with someone staring back at me
as I try to put my thoughts into words
don't sound stupid
no desperation
no neediness
no attention
being analyzed is an interesting thing
because you can feel the ****
of knowledgable eyes in your brain
so your walls go up
stop staring at me
because help doesn't exist
when you don't want it
and there is no cure
for the monsters in my brain
tearing
ripping
clawing at my psyche
whispering
sweet nothings into my subconscious
bland, practiced words stream out of my mouth
bubbling over with the dull tone of indifference
boredom
and ultimately,
cringe-worthy sadness.
if only you could actually understand
that the monsters are my friends
their darkness inspires me
reminds me of the heaven
found six feet below my own heels
now I'm standing,
with a rehearsed smile on my mask
and a hollow 'thank you'
before I return to the beige walls

do i love her?
no.

her eyes,
as deep as the ocean
as vibrant as the light
a hint of sadness
i just want her to be alright.

do i love her?
maybe.

her smile,
is covered in braces
that are as blue as her eyes.
i can see right through
her smiling lies.

do i love her?
i do.

her,
she smells perfect like flowers,
i could kiss those perfect lips,
for hours.
her beautiful laugh,
fills the room with joy.
she's perfectly terrible at math,
i get to help her.

do i love her?
i must.

he's so unsure
in the most self assured way

he has eyes like the sea
before a storm
a combination of
       blue                          
   and                  
green        
so remarkable
that you want nothing but
to have them look
into yours
the very same way

and his laugh is
a sound that should be
boxed up
and put away
to be accessed at a
moments notice
to be cherished
--always
every single time it
stumbles out
of his diaphragm

his face is
familiar
in the way of a childhood comfort
that you never want
to un-see

a mix of joy and nostalgia
that you want to relive
everyday

he has a way about him
like
he could break at
one crooked word
yet
he's strong enough
to carry
the whole world around
on his shoulders

he's unerasable
but you wouldn't
even want to erase him
if you had the chance
--he's perfect

he'd carry around all your burdens with you
and bottle up your laughs
and document every three A.M. conversation

you constantly just want to
be with him
because that's where you're okay

and you want to tell him
you want him
to know
but
he probably wouldn't want that
and in all likelihood
he would disappear
and that
would be like
trying to breathe
           under            
                    water  



- l. m.

You could have sliced my skin.
Peeled it back and eaten my heart.
Raw.
You could have shattered my bones.
Until each one cracked in half.
Snap.
You could have voiced your distaste.
Called me every name in the book.
Poison.

But even worse,
you didn't do anything.