I was going to write a poem
telling how beautiful you are.
but it would be an injustice to the world's self-esteem
to immortalize such concepts.

she says -
if i carve your name onto my ribcage in the morning before the sun comes up will it come true? will it **** you this time?
maybe ill lie down so that you can pick me apart,
fingernails breaking on my iron skin
would you like that?

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.

Don't you think it's a little early for a breakdown?
Holed away in your basement bedroom
Lying about your mental age
And downing bottle after bottle,
Stolen from your parents' fridge.
Isn't this a bit too much?
And a bit too late?
It's been three weeks and you're choosing to feel it now?
Pick up that shovel and head outside,
We have work to do.

I gave you my summer;
Sea salt stung my aching knuckles
And the salt from your skin burned the cracks in my lips.
I gave you tea candle nights;
Firefly and Arnold Palmer
Topped with bug spray and dusted with chlorine
Rolling over and over until I felt sick
With your taste in my mouth and your heartbeat in my head.
I gave you my will to breathe that night
And with every shot I took, you took more.
I gave you the days of cold breezes and warm afternoons;
When the sunset burned like fire
And I needed your hands to keep mine warm.
Pumpkin on my tongue
Lattes and ale
And a long drive to the apple trees
Where we got lost for hours, you and me.
I gave you my shoulder and my shade
I gave you my light heart and carried your weight.
I gave you the light I needed to see
And for those next few months, I was blind.
I gave you my stumbling legs and frozen fingers
Wrapped in a down blanket on a queen size bed
I gave you every inch of my skin and touched every inch of yours,
All alone here on the floor
but still, I was empty.
With no blood in my veins
and no heart in my chest.
Vacated and lost
A beggar girl whose lost eyes you despise
Whose heart is wilting beside yours
Who calls for nameless people in the middle of the night,
While you lay beside her losing sleep.

They say it’s okay in the end.
But I can think of so many times
when it wasn’t.
Or maybe that’s what death says
when he takes your hand.
”It’s okay…”

I'm sorry, everyone.
I hopped on the Internet
Hoping that I could produce
Something beautiful, deep,
And heartbreaking for all of you to read
And enjoy.
Unfortunately,
In the words of fangirls,
I can't even.
I have nothing. NOTHING.
Nothing for my poetry,
Nothing for my prose,
Nothing
At
All.
If you people I don't and do know
Realize this feeling of
Suddenly coming to the edge of the world of writing
(Which I didn't even know was flat)
And just STANDING there
Staring into the black empty
That is absolute nothingness...
Well, make me a sympathy card, okay?
Because I can't write today.
I've got nothing.
So, if you're looking for something
That is not a piece of crap
Coming from the brilliant mind of this author?
Feel disappointment.