When we meet a person we subconsciously inspect each feature
We intuitively notice flaws and perfections
the less we see a person the less our eyes renew the image in our minds
we focus so ******* reinventing an exact, lifelike image
causing it to eventually slip away
so we try harder, pushing the image even further
until sooner or later we begin to question ourselves
and a cloud of mist forms and impedes our ability to visualize
creating more distance between the memory and ourselves
and no matter how hard we resist
we gradually lose pieces of the face that will never reappear
and wish our eyes could mend the broken image
just one last time
no one has solved the mystery of how to capture this memory
or even hold it for eternity
so as victims we watch it slip away
we helplessly forget
and pray for one last chance to remember
not the ambiguous, blurred remembrance
but the clear, flawless one

Yearning for you
Makes me angry with myself.

So **** angry
That I literally weep with rage and horror,
Sometimes several times a day.

You are such a
Such a
Such a
Why do I want you, even now?

And I mean want want WANT you,
Desperately, angrily, resentfully,
Want you like the world wants saving,
The rain wants rivers,
Want you like a fallen angel
Wishes he could be with God, again.

we smoke hand-rolled cigarettes just to be awash in the splendor of it all, but i don’t tell you i like to feel the disintegration of my organs in a thick cloud of menthol & formaldehyde.  i don’t tell you i still press fingers to the back of my raw-skinned throat, just to know i haven’t lost the courage.  without new scars healing on my delicate wrists & sweet-sour pills dancing in my blood, i am nothing worth remembering.  every night, i fall asleep with my cat snuggled warm against my clattering bones & measure my stomach with trembling palms, afraid that i have suddenly erupted from my wispy shape into something breathing.  a girl of no substance, dark matter where flesh once lived, hollowed perfection in the stiff arrangement of limbs on a crooked frame.  you kiss my knees goodnight; we don’t mention you are sad again or that i am becoming a skeleton.  your teeth are serrated, sweet against my neck.  your hips are songbirds, dipping into my belly, begging with a lust i can’t feel anymore.  your body is heavy & all i want is sleep, the sweetness of a pillow beneath my icy cheek, the passage of time without the constant obsession over infinite sins.  i never promised you a rose garden, so welcome in the monster.

You could've copied the dictionary
and it wouldn't have mattered.
Just those beautiful scripted letters
on a page in my hands.

The ink bled through just enough
to saturate the corners of the cursive.
It's all curves and valleys.
A font I could only lust after.

It had soul.
Almost like the very words you wrote
were in direct allusion to the gods;
Like all the connected alphabet fell to the ground
and on it's knees, worshipped you.

I wanted to read everything you took note of
Even, on occasion, your grocery lists.
But then, You could have copied the dictionary
and it wouldn't have made any difference at all.