everything was looking up
and I never knew that everything was about to go down.

the sliver of light between the blinds reached into my heart and burned an image.

sweat and love and smoke and *****
all smelled the same for a summer. 

my heart stopped keeping time because this was never going to slow down or end.

it wasn't even summer yet.
but I remember that smell.

I remember the feeling of waking up in the morning,
flip flops and long skirts.
cigarettes and heart bursts.

I thought I let it slip away.
but it's right here.
I wrote it in stone for you.
but it's more for me.

history belongs to the victors.
and so;
if I get through this,
I could say,
that my hair wasn't cheaply dyed and ratty;
but a perfect bottle blonde.
and the way that it fell across my shoulders,
as I slowly put on my leather jacket
in the dark,
was something meaningful,
and something beautiful,
instead of a last resort.

they will say "no",
     when they should say "yes."
there's been a mistake,  
there's been a manufacturing error.
they made me an empty vessel,
and they sent me down the line.

and it's making me so tired.
I can't spend all my time in search of genuine,
there's none of that left.

not now, not anymore, and maybe not ever at all.
and it hurts me.

so tonight like any other night,
or like no other night at all,
I never thought what I might've lost
when I stopped and gained composure.

just as well.
because now I know it's gone.

going to meet the boy who has no name.
so we can smoke our cigarettes together.

he fills the empty, with our little talks.
leaning up against the no smoking sign.

it scares me, the way that I think of him,
like clockwork. meet by the sign,
monday wednesday friday afternoons,
and I'm starting to watch the time.

he's starting to fill up the empty spaces,
that he doesn't even know exist.

I still haven't asked his name.

sometimes I don't understand
the reasons why time has been good to us,
or the reasons why it hasn't.

every little day dissected,
and sorted into "wrong" or "right",
our sins pile up by our bedroom doors,
while we try to sleep at night.

I am ugly inside.
I am rotting.

it is easy to understand why. 

but I can't quite figure out when I went wrong,  
which of my sins tipped the scales

what brought me to this place?
and what is going to bring me out?

but I am so happy for you. 
when I see you smile,
when I see that time has been good to you,  because you were always good to me.

and I understand why I have never deserved it.

2/10/13

you don't have to ask me anymore,
how I'm feeling or what I'm thinking.
it doesn't matter to me
if it matters to you. 
but I wonder if you dream of me,
or mistake me for that girl 
you saw walking down the street
if you remember as vividly as I did 
all the times we used to share.
all the words exchanged, 
my way of merely bordering sane.
I wouldn't expect you to. 

today you were brought up
from across the table. 
and my gut didn't ache
and I simply said,
"I'd rather not discuss it"
and I kept your privacy, 
I didn't expect to, but I did.
it's neither my buisness nor his.
nobody ever seems to know
all that has happened between us.
I suppose it's a blessing. 
so I went out for a cigarette,
and thought about absolutely nothing.

don't sleep until the battery runs dry.
that page is still loading,
the sun outside is gloating, 
"why don't you come outside, 
the waters fine."

so many hours awake,  in bed.
so many things you could've done instead.

I insist on this, if anything, I insist on this.
because a girls gotta stand for something. 

don't eat,  don't sleep,
don't ever dry your eyes.
the pixels can numb you and your soul until the **** thing dies.
we can send eachother whatever search terms cross our slipping minds. 

goodnight.

"I'm not smart enough"
just another one of the things you said.

and I can't help but think of how wrong you are.

perhaps you might've said "I'm emotionless"
and I could've believed it.

but "I'm not smart enough" , that's just untrue.

"not smart enough"

that's me, I suppose.
because I can't make my paychecks last the week,
or keep up on my homework.

I have only the slightest idea,
of what's going on in politics,
although I would be quite interested to find out.

I don't know how to build a computer, like you do,
I don't know of all the indie bands you listen to.

I've had ideas and dreams just as big as you ever did.
we just never had talked about it,
and if we did, you never took me seriously.

so don't give me that tired line "I'm not smart enough."
it's insulting to me, because I feel like I'm falling behind.

after a day in bed,
an indie film.

a glass of captain morgan on ice,
or three.

we discussed film theory
on the porch.
cigarettes in hand.

I'm willing to admit that I am lonely.
maybe that's what today has been about.

isn't it so much an easier form of torture,
to wholly love those who'll you'll never meet, never know,
but may fully deserve?

after years alone,
you can get used to it.

we find ways to cope,
we get high in bed alone.

I want to be immortal.
I want to dance to old records.
I want to be half dead and feel alive.
with someone I haven't met yet.

I'm willing to admit that I am lonely.
I'm willing to admit that I may die alone.

I'm no longer holding you responsible
for my salvation.

consider this your invitation to bow out
and we can leave as polite strangers.

it's an understatement I'm willing to make
we aren't friends, but we were once.

and I see you nowhere in my future
and I see you haunting in my dreams
and I see you in the library,
but I don't see you as my savior.

it's been so many months
and you're off the hook.
this isn't your problem;
because it isn't a problem anymore.

the smell of gasoline was making its way,
through my childhood home,
from the oven to the hallway,
to my bedroom, coming to stain my lungs.

somebody is going to wake up.
somebody is going to regret this.

my hair is still pink and blonde,
but the roots are coming in.
the paychecks getting smaller,
my lungs are getting darker,  
and so are my sins.

finally we found ourselves a drinking spot.
four of us,  two and two,
him and he, me and you.
packing bowls, crushing beer cans,
lighting up the dark.

I never asked myself for this
and I never accepted it.

but I found you by your voices.
by the smell that lingers
underneath our lamp post,
by the feeling that pulls me out of the dark,
and into the last summer of my life.

I'm not concerned with your soul,
or your essence, your truth.
**** it, it's nothing to me.
I'm molding you into a still life,
an exhibit, a portrait.
you will not age.
you will never die.
you never left or grew angry.

I'd like to see inside them all,
every passing stranger or fool,
but your shell is beautiful to me,
it's such a shame I cracked it,
and saw the slimy innards,
your grey little slug heart,
that was too slow in it's beating.

truth be told,
your truth is such a turn-off,
so I'll use your ambiguity,
to a paint a pretty picture of you,
where you will live forever,
and I never lose.

2-1-13

I walk and I wake, I never give,
and yet I always take.

this is your adult life.

we are going to be sophomores again.
a little bit less self assured,
a few more nights a week spent tired and bored.

when the chaos gives in to a good moment's rest,
I will salvage my soul to give you a show,
I am asking myself "can I do this?",
and the answer is, "no".

I walk and I wake,  and I never give,
but I always take.

this is your adult life.

this is a quiet town
where the roads are covered in snow. 
and I am the marlboro fairy, 
spreading my ash in the dead of night

with my hair in blonde knots
savoring the delicate drags of my cigarette.
all the little children sleep sound,
and dream of me.

my ghosted footprints
silently appearing beneath the streetlight

as ashes fly away with wind for sails
I barely am breathing out
nor making a sound.

I'm the marlboro fairy of midway drive
I'm a college freshman born in '95
I am the future of at least one of your children,
I am the cigarette butts stashed,
by the side of the building.

I have a life that I go back to at night,
I don't leave this house without a light.
there is dog hair and dust and ugliness
that waits to welcome me inside,

but I'm the Marlboro fairy
and I've got so much to hide.

I can smell the sweat that clings to my cotton death.
they have already left for home.

shovel on another layer of debt and debris on top of my swollen body.
the coffee kept me alive to dig out of my grave, and here I am.
 
I can smell the air that ran through our lungs when we were children.

an hour behind,
and the funeral service isn't ending,
pick up the black masks,
as we march out of here in tens.
this body is not dead.
this body is not dead.

we watched the sunset reflected in the marble of the tombstones,
let's dig him up,  let's get him clean
he walks among the living again

and I left my tears at the gate of the cemetery, these years climb off my back like weights we never knew we carried for so long.

through years and windowpanes that gather dust, mattresses given up for caskets, intravenous memories that leaked onto the floor

I smell the sweat that clings to my cotton death.
I am going to take it home.

the last drags of my cigarette.
the drizzle of the rain upon the awning.
just the memory of you

I want to press the **** of my cigarette
straight into the curve of my neck.
and let it burn.

I am so unsteady,  love.

I am so unsteady,  love.

today I went and bought a 6 pack
we had a blizzard rolling in so I
drove off and decided,
"my first legal buy", and some noodles.

and I looked at just about every 6 pack
the packaging, the price, the abv.
you were such a beer snob
and yet I loved you for it.

maybe I would've found any excuse to love you.
maybe that's what love really is.

I don't remember much of that month,
anymore.
but on your wall I can see
all of the things I bought and drank
when I felt loved and so much better off.

and for whatever reason,
the black sheep lager, I remember.
I wasn't with you, but I was proud of you
for it,
for picking it out.

maybe I would've found any excuse to like it.
maybe that's what love really is.

but anyways,
I kept thinking, which is never good,
that the beer was awesome
that black sheep was the height of summer
that black sheep brought me close to you.

each and every time I saw it on your wall
I thought
this isn't over
it happened
it's real.

well it was,
and it wasn't.

maybe that's what love really is.

but the beer
the black sheep
it doesn't taste at all
like I remembered it did.

like all your favorite beers, it is bitter.
like all unrequited, half-forgotten loves,
it is bitter.

so what does it tell you about yourself? 
can you see your future in the fogged up mirror
I used to write your name in
and do you like what it has to say? 

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed alone
for the rest of my life,
hair never washed, that certain little kind of pain that replaces any pills I've popped.

I swear I'm going to be sober for the rest of my life.

so what does it tell you about yourself?
I can tell you see yourself so many years from now,  with the same dead eyes and the same stupid scar on your neck. 

and can you see me through my bedroom window,  with all the lights turned on? can you see me as my younger self,  full of hope and singing along to every song that would you would grow up to poison? 

this isn't what I wanted for myself.
can you see that?

at night I can fall asleep by counting the rolls of fat on my stomach
a steady, calming, everyday weight that doesn't feel as bad as it looks;
but sometimes what I feel seems foreign, and I am restless
because I once had a flat stomach and I can remember how that felt,
almost.

in the mornings I wake up,
get out of bed
and mark the start of each new day with the very first collision of my thighs.
I think that I don't hate my body as much as I should.
I feel sorrier for whoever has to see me like this than I do for myself.
these are things I tell myself; I think I may believe them.

I notice my round stomach trying to escape the waistline of my jeans
I have picked and pulled at the stretchy skin that drowns my arms
I have sat down and gaped at the remarkable resemblance that my thighs have to a pair of lumpy, fleshy, potatoes

somedays I say " it won't look that way when I stand up"
those are good days.

& I remember all of the clothes I have given away to christie
two beautiful coats that I had picked out myself not all that long ago,
and they were loved very much
and worn very little
and they were bought by my mother
two beautiful coats that press my arms so tight that I can't move them
not even to take a drag off my cigarette or unlock my car
they look like they were made for her.

my jim morrison shirt that was black&white;& I bought it at the boardwalk on venice beach out of the back of a pickup truck barely thirty feet from the ocean
my jim morrison shirt that I cut last spring to the midriff and beaded it myself for an hour on my dorm room floor, had my roommate hem it & never wore it again.
it looks like it was made for her.

& there are days when she comes home from the thrift shop,
with full plastic bags of dresses, and lace, and florals, flannels and blouses
and she'll say "lookwhatIgotisntitnice?andofcourse you can wear it too."
and I don't know if she actually means it
sometimes I think she does & I don't know how that makes me feel
and I don't know if she actually means it
but we both know that I'll never ask.

"I'm so ******* tired."

can I tell you a secret?

I always tell you the truth.
the closest thing I have to the truth anyways.
I sometimes even surprise myself.

you don't need to know this.
I don't tell you when it's bad.

I only tell you when it's worst.
I pick these little tiny words.

we liars have to stick together so we can show each other the people we knew we could be, before life happened.

now, I don't know if I love you,
but these feelings never change.
I've never had to ignore them,
and I could make them go away.

can I tell you a secret?

I already have.
because you ask me,  don't forget me,
never have and someday might.
but I don't expect you to stick around.

you never need to know this.
I only tell you when it's worst.
I always pick these tiny words.

3-4-13

we are the same **** mistake
you and I 
I had imagined us as heartless
but I was wrong. 

somewhere along the lines of sobriety and insomnia
I gave it serious thought

our hearts are filled with love
for ourselves
for what we see ourselves becoming

the only difference between
you and I
is that you can live with yourself.
and I'm trying to atone
for sins I haven't yet committed.

7-12-12

cold for a july night.
hands cupped like a begging addict
trying to savor the heat of the flame
that spreads to the filter of the cigarette

now thats two wasted.

with all the times I've spent
sitting and debating if
this life is worth slitting my wrists
it's a miracle I'm still alive.

it's only seventeen julys
but if you ask me,
it's more like seventeen million.

my feet are cold.
in all senses including proverbial.

It's only getting worse.
I'm only getting worse.

my eyes are;
aching, burning, cried out.
my lungs are;
deadweight, exhausted, ****** up.
my body has;
given up, had enough.

and it's not even noon yet.

the fire burned out and I followed you down.
I said "I don't think I'm right in the head."
and you smiled, I cringed, because I couldn't smile back.
the stars looked no different than the nights I spent alone.
but you hold me close, and squeeze my hand.
I would let you make all of my decisions for me,
and I will sleep here with you in the cold.

when the sun comes up, will I begin to see my future?
the years fly over the the treeline, just like birds.
the summer is leaving us, the leaves will fall.
I'll hold your hand and wish I hadn't,
and when I go quiet, if you loved me, you'll know what I won't say.
we finish our beers, toss the cans beneath the pine trees.

I dip my feet into the pool,
and the final drag of my cigarette says "you know what you're feeling."

past three a.m. you don't exist
except for this time when you
thought you could walk in and
exist here.

listen, these amphetamines
make me far too honest.

you can't be here
while I'm jawing out
because
I'd love to talk to you.

I want to forget today
but never forget this feeling
because knowing
that this type of pain existed
could've kept me out of a lot of trouble

and it'll keep me far away from you.

I'm burning up
because I had this strange dream
I fell through the cellophane
to a way to get spiritual.
and woke up in my very own bed.

only two hours early for work.

I coughed up the equivalent
of what my lungs must feel like,
every **** day,
especially these days.

I smoked until I knew I was only making it worse
I'm hearing in different shades of pain
from my right ear canal
whenever I swallow.

if I'm going to die from a cold
can't we just please get it over with?

she's got a father and a mother and a sister and grandpa and a grandma

she thinks she's lived this day before
but she tells herself that she hasn't 

she never sent that text before
until right now when it happened

she didn't crack that joke before
and she didn't have this pack of cigs

it wasn't Friday until today
and it will never be Friday again. 

but for now it is.

she's always going to be sixteen
even if she doesn't know it

she's always going to forget
but wants to go visit the graves

she'll never sleep without dreaming
unless she decides she can't bear it

she'll never forget his name
but, god, how she wants to

she'll never run out of cigarettes
as long as she doesn't cut her hair

but sometimes she thinks she might.

11/30/12

I'm fine.
sleep.
I'm fine.
you're fine.
we're all fine.
I smell like cigarettes,
and my phone's dying.
I'm not sure if this what I want to tell you.
so it's just as well that I never will.

please sleep well, wherever you are.

december 10, 2012

today I watched the movie
and Nina was here;
I think that
if you love her
I could understand
because she at least
deserves you.

and the movie said that
high school love
can never last
past college
or at least
that's what they
wanted us to think.

but I have met her.
and I like her.
I would rather you love her
than me or deb or whoever
because she understands you.
she loves you, still
she has always loved you.

I wouldn't have ever understood Brooklyn.
in 2009; I would not have
understood you at all.
no more than you could've understood me,
the way I was back then.

I met you at just the right time,
in the right way.
when we were both ready.
when we could both be friends,
and easily.
I am so grateful for it.

no, truth be told.
I like her.
I like the idea of what you both used to mean to each other.
I like how you cleaned you room for her.
I like that you still can love.

I like that she smiles and laughs
and leans right into you
because she feels safe.
she is a part of who you are:
and I love her for it.

the thought of her
sleeping in your bed
costs me absolutely nothing;
I won't lose any sleep
knowing somebody
appreciates you
they way they should.

I wonder sometimes
      what I was thinking.
            what I was feeling.
all the cigarettes that I smoked, and thought of you,
your essence was slipping away with every exhale of emotion.

you're gone.
I don't see your face anymore.
and you haven't given me a good poem,
the entire time I had to write about it.
come to think of it,
you were never that remarkable.

february 9th, 2013

having every other time
earned my automatic forgiveness;
I cannot find a way to make you feel
the anger that burns me up from within
like a boiling fountain deep inside my guts
that spills scalding tears I cannot stop.

and I will not wait
for you to need me;
just so I can let you down
to see if you will hurt
the way I have.

no, I will not wait.
I will never wait for you again.

"let her beg"
is all that needs to be said
because you know that I'm filled with cough syrup,
and tucked safe in my bed.

what you don't know is the numbness that spreads
when you're not here to stop it;
when the pain bubbles up and I use my razor to pop it.

you can't feel the heat or the coldness I suffer
you'll always have paul as your emotional buffer.

"let her beg"
I'm sure you said.

but it isn't just you that I'm begging.
I'm begging ashley to wake up,
and I'm begging andrew to watch her.
I'm begging myself to forget you,
and not get myself hurt.

9-17-12

2-5-13

my muse has wandered and fallen
dead like the leaves that I stepped on last autumn.
when pain was still fresh
and snow hidden deep in the sky, 
time would come to peel you off my shoulders.

caught like a leech you scabbed and wounded,
the proverbial thorn has
been released from my side.
there will be flowers blooming in spring time.
another muse to use up a recycled line.

I watched the leaves fall into my nicotine clouds,  saw many an emotion
carried beneath a burial shroud. 

every death is a reflection on you.
every snowflake a shot at something new.

the second night that I've known to drape my skirt over the light,

the second card in the tarot deck that never gave us any good advice,

the second drag,  the second sip,  the second year
the second trip.

the second time I've slept in a bed that isn't mine.
the only time I spent a night that was immortal,
and could not be measured as a waste of time.

the second child who misses her older brother,
who I have realized is my charge,
and gives me purpose as an angel,
a guardian angel,  undereducated and undercover.

the second day of 1995,
the youngest guest, the most naive friend;
and the last to arrive.

the second that I realized I was worth far more
than I was ever led to believe, the second decade and the very definition of disbelief.

the second glass of a drink you shouldn't take,
that leaves you out on the porch with a story you couldn't fake.

the bass, and the mattress,
the house that isn't mine.
the ache, and the sickness,
that will make you write the line.

"did you ever think you would be this blessed?"

you sat right down and asked me,
don't you ever forget.
it was you that came by,
asking me for my forgiveness.

we were caught scrolling through our lifetimes,  but you caught me up in this.
couldn't the sunlight be enough for you?
why'd you have to save me with your smile?

don't act like this didn't happen sweetie,  
you'll never forget.
I've been singing along to love songs,
since before we first met.

I have dried my eyes and dyed my hair,
I have drank the wine and done it best.

you sat right down and asked me,
don't you ever forget.
it was you that came by,
asking me for my forgiveness.

nothing to say, not today.
my notebooks are blank.
my conscience isn't clear.
let this be another day wasted.
another sequence of hours,
so soon to be forgotten.

nothing to say about today,
nothing worth writing.
no imblance of emotion.
no observation or commotion.
just another quiet day.

my eyes are drying out.
time to put them to rest for awhile.
I should've stopped you, but never did.
we can't control ourselves, we can't stop this.

when I am blind,  I will be able to guide you.
I don't need my sight to bring you home.

when your voice gives out, I will still hear you.
loud and clear,  as if you're speaking in my ear.

my eyes are drying out.
at this hour they are so useless.
I should've slept, but I never did.
we can't take back this curse we cast ourselves.

so when you fall,  I will be there to help you up.
no matter how many reincarnations,
or centuries have passed between us,
my soul will wait to take you home.

and when we our blind, our hearts will see for us.
in shades of summer and youth, we will map out the great adventure that lies before us.

and, oh, how it lies.

the summer days when
my bracelets graced your coffee table
were by far the best
that I ever had.

hasn't been around here in weeks.
haven't seen her around.
      that desk sits empty and that grade slips lower.
will never be able to make up for time lost,
will not be seeing that 3.0 this semester.

hasn't been the easiest thing to **** off,
haven't come back to end this until now.
     I walked in that door knowing I came to say goodbye.
will never be able to see you how I used to, after this.
will not make this any harder on myself.

I'm coming right back to the curves of your smile.

and now I'm trying to decide if I should let you in on this little week of bedridden regret.

or we can carry on, both knowing how we'll end up in that bed together, laughing as we strip.

and I can carry on already knowing my smile will be fake,  as your hand touches my hip.  

keeping your eyes on the same little scars you knew I had. without having to wonder how I got them. 

and as soon I as I can,  I'll make
my impending exit, crawl right out of your bed.  it isn't my place to stay there.  

I don't want to know if you'd miss me

and in the morning I'd take a shower, thinking of just how much you must've had to drink last night,  and how it wouldn't have happened otherwise. 

so how do I know this is going to happen already?