my favorite form of
destruction is on the kitchen floor
in bed
in the hallways
in the soft curve of my back when i listen

i'm only putting together words
that i think sound nice, this is not poetry
this is false flattery, from myself, to myself
this is a form of self harm
this is an attempt to sink my teeth into my skin
to ******* unhappiness, remind myself of it
even when it's  long gone

because how do you
accept love when it is there
and it is true
and it is the first

i have forgotten how to be not unhappy
when i am alright i dig myself a new hole
i find myself a new grave
i dress myself in robes of depression
they do not fit
but i like them, because i am the emperor
these are my new clothes

my heart is haunted by people that haven't died yet
this sounds like a threat but i think it's more a promise,
more a disease,
all the people i have ever loved
are people i will love forever.

there is no way to shed this, i
cannot
scrub away all the love i meant to give you,
but couldn't. and i am trying now, here,
in my own bathroom,
all the scrubbing until my hands
are red
are shaking
are not mine

and all i could ever ask for was that you hold them, so i asked

i think the problem was that you couldn't hear me over the sound of water
you couldn't hear me through the closed shower door
you couldn't hear me down the hall and into the living room

i think the problem was that you didn't want to hear me at all