I
am envious
of everything that
felt your touch today.

this is what you call life
wasting minutes in front of a mirror
to make sure the fresh ink on your eyes isn't smudged
and the time melts away as you search
for your second skin in your closet

showing up an hour late
to a street you've never been
to a house at fire capacity
to grind to music you hate
with people you've never called your friends

wiping a spot of powder from your upper lip
as you get thrown from the bathroom filled
with moth girls only attracted to the
harsh light above their reflections

pouring ***** down your throat
as a chaser to someone else's prescription

stumbling into the cool air
with a warm body pressed up next to you
and huddling together in the back of a cab
with their mouth on your neck

waking up to the frost blue light
in a strangers bed
and choking back a sob
with only the memory of perfecting that
black line on your eyelid

writing a note to apologize
for the mascara smear on the pillow case
as you try to find your second skin

this is what you call life
but are you really living

they say we are all made up of stardust;
an evolved specie from the distant galaxies.

but I think you're a genetic mutation,
an incomplete evolution

for I could still see the stars
reflected on your skin
dancing through your fingertips
and swimming in your eyes.