10/22/12
that's the day you died
the day you became dead to me

sitting in the driveway at my dad's house
cigarette in hand
cottonwood tree standing tall and alive
concrete feeling cool and strong

both cottonwood and concrete
have seen me cry over many a boy like you
the wind howled a familiar howl
and suddenly I remembered

there've been so many just like you
and here I am,  returning home,
changed, and bitter, and with tears in my eyes
I returned home whole

I realized today that I don't need you
I realized that I could let you go.

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?

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.

he bit me and
left a mark on the throat
I had been singing with

every brush of my hair to my shoulder
is a reminder of a stain I can't brush away

a lingering fog has hit campus
and I wonder what kind of old woman I will grow into.

there are songs
that belong to jack
like tiny vessels

and they will always be his
because
you've never left a mark on my neck.

but could you?
will you?
I'll make you.
before this is all over.

I'll make you stain my neck.

before this is all over
before this weekend is done
I'll make you stain my neck.

the songs that belong
to people you've never met
are theirs.

but my neck is clean
"my lungs are fresh and yours to keep."
stain me baby;
I think you maybe want to.

shot into my very own world, right here
an all enclosing space, save for the exit wound.
& today I'm deciding that you can't come through.

this is mine, this is what I've built.
I'm neither leaving nor letting you in this time
I earned my place, and I'm not giving it up for any one.
but especially you.

new emblems and no overdoses,
walking the sidewalk squares in a strange osmosis.
I don't need your "clarity".
****  you.

thinking about giving away your secrets,
because you haven't for awhile.

and for each and every one you smoke a cigarette.

a drag of confidence gone.

it's four days in and I'm the girl at the mailbox.
5 a.m and already earning stares from the neighborhood joggers.

"hello mr. tomani"

another value tarnished.

call in the dogs,  shut the door,
in the end, you go back to your bed,
call off the experiment,
declare that side of you dead.

you would like to know what it is that you want.

I'm jangling along,
in time with charms falling across my arms.
silver fade with cheap,  black dyed suede.

I'm a simple kind of fix.

running into woven traps and loose ends,
hiding from our emotions,
hiding from our daily lives.

I started drawing exit signs.

breakfast is a cigarette

an accidental toast with another empty bottle

it hurts the most when it's repeated

just the mention of your name
was enough to send me into
what they thought was a suicide
but was just my sobbing in the shower
I guess I was too loud

my eyes are green, and red
how festive
sometimes I think
I have the best and worst
understanding of Christmas

I swam in the mediterranean
and you mattered more.

screaming inside.
deaf like winter nights.
as unbroken as a sheet of glass.
blank and see through.

the lump sum of every rotted feeling.
all the things I've always known I am.
all the things you always thought I was.
all of these things,  they come out at night.
and they are not sleeping.

they make me face the many ways,
how I wanted to mourn you.
how I wanted to forget you.
and how I'm never sincere enough,
to know just what I want.

how I am hurting.
no one but myself.

I am, screaming inside.
making myself deaf like winter nights
when I am afraid to make a sound,
I'm only courageous enough to take a drag,
and then I have nothing left to take from you.

this is a distress signal.
I'm going under.

I looked across lake ontario,
I couldn't find the edge.
I couldn't see across that flat grey abyss.
I wanted to dive in; to drown trying to find you.
I wanted to float on the the other side,
where I might find you; see you one last time.

that was two weeks ago.
that was october 12th, a saturday.
I survived it then.
but I'm drowning now, on dry land.
in my bed.
on my bed.

I don't know where to find you.
I haven't got a clue.
I don't remember the sound of your voice.
I don't remember the curves of your face.
or the color of your eyes.

this is a distress signal.
this is a desperate plea.
this is my lake ontario.
this is my grey abyss.
my message in a bottle,
floating across the frigid waters.

I am the titanic.
you are the carpathia.

I will sink before you reach me.

I called you
and I said,

"I still don't know what happened."
"but I think that it never mattered."

I could hear you breathing on the line,
picking out just what to say.
I drank a lot of wine this morning.
I haven't gotten out of bed today.

3-3-2013

couldn’t sleep so I went out for a cigarette; contemplated the true meaning of being lonely

and it’s something to do with being just good enough for everybody around you, but never good enough for yourself.

something to do with wanting to regret a touch, a feeling, a smile. being too scared to accept a lapse in judgement.

being too self aware to just let it happen

my fingers went numb while I smoked and thought it over. the best revenge is never taking it. And the worse curse is a slow curse.

I hope you never have to end up this lonely.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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."

I can't rip out the part of me
that remembers a time
when things were better
between us.

and so I think,
that for a little while longer at least,
I will have mornings like this.

"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

I don't care about Monday's weather
because I won't be here
while you're sleeping
I'll be arriving at an airport
and when you wake up
I'll be across the Atlantic

I'm skipping ahead to the part
when I come back home
a month from now
to see if anythings changed
between us.

and I'm doubtful.

but I'm going to leave that note
somewhere where you'll find it
when I'm already on my plane.
and if you read it
maybe you'll think
of how
I shouldn't try to forget you
and maybe you'll be happy
that I'm going to miss you
every bit as much as I will.

you know I sleep here more often than not;
it's not my home
but I just feel like
I'm happiest here.

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.

drag a knife down my spine
I had forgotten pain
and now
I need it

10/29/12

drank my robitussin like a commercial,
made my gums sickly sweet and red.
coughing up discomfort and nicotine,
wishing my body could decide to be dead.

I wonder if Poe had to wait until he was sick,
to squeeze a meaningful thought out onto paper,
'cause lately I do.

the buzzards have found my gut.
hello again, and welcome back.

let's stretch this day out, me & you, together.
I'll ignore that ****** up sensation,
that all my feelings are being eaten away,
if we can grab some coffee,
if I don't run out of cigarettes.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

we know I spent this weekend hiding,
living on a borrowed pack that's running low,
packing bowls I knew would soon be empty for awhile.
but they couldn't find me, not in that bed.
yet they pace the staircase outside my door, and guard me.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

so we have lunch, and I smile across my last meal,
pretty sure that I would've preferred the cash,
to spend on something that could spoil my lungs.
but it's the thought that counts, it isn't the end quite yet.
and they wait for the scraps I toss beneath the table.

I wonder how no one ever notices me feeding my demons.
I wonder what each emotion tastes like,
I wonder which ones I'm giving away, 'cause I can't look.
I wonder what's left in my body.

the buzzards have found me hiding.
the buzzards have begun to swarm.
they are coming to give me back my emotion.
they are coming to let me know I'm wrong.

hello again, and welcome back.

no more.
no more coming of age indie movies.
no more love stories, love songs.
no more wanting what I can't have.

there used to be a time,
when my doubts would come bursting into my life, loud and unmistakeable.

and now when I crawl into bed at night,
I sometimes notice them there;
sleeping soundly, because I'm not.
lying peaceful, dormant.
accepted and tucked in.
because I'm not.

I could embrace them.
and still be alone.
or I could kick them to the curb;
and disappear.

no more.
no more summer nights without a care.
no more night walks without a jacket.
no more comfort, no more rest.

my doubts will stay sleeping,
so long as I don't.

I hate menthol cigarettes with a passion. I swore I'd never eat seafood but I guess I'm going to in a few moments. I was cold until they gave me a blanket. I'm going to sit here and write a bible like jesus christ. are we going to dip into the jack daniels soon? because this wall is cold and it's my birthday tomorrow. this hat isn't mine but I keep it so I stay warm and undiscovered. I have a nagging suspicion you don't exist.  I'll never like metallica, I don't wanna try the salmon. I haven't eaten much today,  I wanna pack the bowl. I've never wanted to have this many people text me daily,  I can't believe I had *** during adventure time. this is the day before I turn 18, my inner lip tastes like ramen salt. here comes the salmon.  it's january now so we'll all freeze to death. except for you. you probably won't freeze to death unless I see you.

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'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.

no more june songs
it's november now and
I celebrated daylight savings
with two days in bed
thinking of you
and reading poems
I would've been better off
never writing.

no more june songs
it's november now
it gets dark at five
and one of these nights
I'll delete every poem
that you inspired.

no more june songs
it's november now and
they'll never be able to prove
that I loved you.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

3/3/13

the light fades at the end of the day
it always has.
I sat and thought of you
on the sidewalk.

I can blame you, 
for just as many things 
as I thank you for.
our own little bit of ****** up zen.

last summer was classic
last summer will never die

I forget that you weren't around
you didn't have to be, for once.
I'll see you again, 
I'm almost certain

but even if I don't 
I don't think I'll cry.

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.

2-5-13

It's time for spring colors again,
for trees to bud, and snowy wet mud.
It isn't here yet today, but I'm waiting.

I smiled today, without telling myself that I had to.
I didn't hide from the sun.
and I noticed that the sky was as blue as your eyes.
but with a little bit less icy tones,
and a lot more love for me.

I can see stains on the window of every car.
I'm using myself as an ashtray.
The stereo is playing on, and my cigarettes long.
I'm not worried about you, or home, or health.
this is ambivalence we turned to gold.
I feel beautiful for once.
and once is forever.

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.