i can feel the stress in your thighs the
voluptuous curves of memories pressed
tightly against my
hips and the petite ***** of
consciousness on my thumb, anemic
thoughts in my mind say no but
i'll always say yes.

I could die in this moment
with this song with this weather with this urge I can’t control
I could die in this moment
with no cares with no worries with no pain
I could die in this moment
with weak joints and heavy breath
I could die in this moment
with nothing left
dead

i have to talk
      constantly
or i'll forget the sound of my voice and
lose myself inside
this vast vessel of bodies
in which i live (that is so
                                                              ­   filled with viruses
                                                         ­     there's no room for my thoughts)
and if i can forget the sound of my voice
how could you not?

He said his favorite curve
on my body looked just
like a closed-mouth
smile; the kind I refused to
show because I believed
in                                        teeth.

i am a *** driven soldier plundering though broken lightbulbs with
polite toes
(and i like that sometimes)
my hair smells like yesterday's memories
(and i like that when you leave me)
i
feel numb
both in my head and through my palms.

from the side she looked like a skeleton
   blurry and blue
and her bones were bruised from who-knows-what and
   who-knows-who (tired of you)

from the front she was round
  soft and warm
with clavicles that were ten-miles-deep and
  ten-miles-away (please don't stay)

scuzz and ****** and
drama queens                         
                           drugs and dye and
                           milky eyes



[i am bitter enough to rhyme.]

The middle of November. That’s how I like to remember you. I think of you as the middle of November: Cold, with red hair like falling leafs and blue eyes like the sky looks when my eyes water from the wind and my small hands would go numb. Something changed. You were no longer the November mornings I’d spend high as a kite contemplating where I’d be three years from then, hopeful and star struck. You were June. Too warm. You were the June afternoons I’d spend going from high to low, my arms burning in the beating sun waiting for a small, black pickup truck that never would come. You were gazebos with peeled back mesh walls, letting bugs crawl across my bare skin until I thought I’d have to peel that back, too. You were cigarette butts put out in old cans of Diet Coke, mason jars full of expired whipped cream, fireplaces with no purpose.

you are made of lines;
straight, or curved
sometimes
                even
parabolic.

(i crave your
            summer-sweet
                  winter-cool
                    kissing,
your
            autumn-colored
                 spring-fresh
                    e v e r y t h i n g,
against my skin.)

To be alone with you,
stuck together in a still-framed eternity,
to be unsure of where we're going
in a blacked out picture perfect life.
Whether I choose to star in our own film
or live in a beatniks' reality,
whether I'm able to separate myself from you
or remain bound in our love stained story

Caught in a momentary lapse of judgement
hung on a wall for all to see,
this is the life we have been forced to live.
No one wanted to inspect the negatives,
no one wanted to find any flaws
in our majestic lie of a loveless love

SEXT
can i see ur body
SEXT
you can see my body
SEXT
make me ***
SEXT
not tonight
SEXT
can i see ur body

i hate it when you leave me to fall asleep
on my own
but ******* if i don't love
when you crawl into bed and then
inside of me

-Kissing boys I did not like
-Kissing boys I liked a lot
-Cheating death
-Feeling strong
-Being notorious for being notorious

i'm
losing inches from my spine;
losing space inside my mind.

the wrong body sometimes touches me in my sleep
in toothless dreams and
quiet scenes.

i sometimes feel your eyes on the back of my head like i'm an alien with antennas and green skin and you're a scientist trying to figure out how i'm even alive.
i sometimes want to grab your ears and kiss them like they do in all the magazines i shouldn't
read even if i like the way models stare through me.
i sometimes wish your mind and mine were the same because my fingers are small and you couldn't grasp me with just your hands
even if you
tried.

Ready for liftoff?
Where are your keys?
Where is your mind?
Why don't you remember?

She stares at the sea while he falls, exhilarated
She stares at the sea.

She stares at the stool where he sits, anticipating
She stares at the stool.

She stares,
That’s all.

i feel like a sunburn waiting to happen
and my teeth have looked so white lately.

i let you see my body last week;
every part (or as much as i could fit in a 4 inch screen)
and my teeth have looked so white lately.

i am half priced but
full quality.

you told me we weren't alike
because when i sit in the sun
i feel sick.

but here we are
alike and touching
my hands hold yours but
mostly yours hold mind and
i am very scared.

i like to
press my hand against my chest and feel the ever-fading sound of my heart
for my mortality is undeniable and
yours is too.

when i get ****** my hair feels greasy because i broke my sobriety when you broke my heart
not that i was really sober
or somber
or helpful, even
but at least you liked to hold me.

i accidentally re-read conversations about The One Before The One Before You
and felt sick to my stomach because of the disgust in my voice
and his lack of awareness
and the fact that i didn't even know you then but i already can feel myself
saying your name though those words.

this feels so millennial, talking about you/me/him/us through a keyboard
into the internet (if the wifi ever works) where you'll probably never see
but strangers will but i just want to tell you in person that
i want you back.

they're gonna play spin the bottle tomorrow and i hope you sit next to me
or don't play
so i don't have to feel weird if it lands on you and you don't wanna kiss me even if i wanna kiss you.

i can't always remember
if the sun sets in
the west or east
but it's okay;
i want to be remembered for thinking
the sun had a choice.

My body becomes the problem.
I cannot move my arms,
I cannot feel my legs.
My back cracks,
my knees are weak.
Ill, Ill, Ill.

I hate thinking about your face,
and all my pretty ******* lace.

don't forget the way you felt.

streams of emotional ribbon coming out your ears,
maybe that's why you never listen.

i drove to your old house today
and even though i KNEW your family
had moved out and that
you were still in Europe i looked to see if the front light was on
(it wasn't).
there were white christmas lights framing the door i used to wait at
while you ran 30 minutes late for everything and i chain smoked and
hoped i'd get to see your mom soon.
i couldn't tell if those horrible neighbors who wanted to put your dog down
still lived next door but i hope they do
and that the people who moved in to your old house
are horrible and those people have to suffer at their expense.

ten cotton briefs
white, big.
they look like shame to me--
they look like something i shed.

my shoes are disintegrating beneath my feet
but i keep walking towards you.

i can count the people i kissed on my hands last night
but i can't count on myself to fix this
or you to fix me.

i should've stayed.

i just want to write

i keep swallowing my words like they're the last meal i'll ever eat,
and i can't help but notice that i smell like soap and pheromones
that only you would find pleasent.
bitter and blunt.
sweet and sour;
when was the last time you thought about me?

The iron taste of your
mouth.
The iron touch of your
hands.
The iron look in your
eyes.
The iron bars on your
windows.

I threw that disposable against the wall
disposable as your heart
crushed in my palm
I threw your heart against the wall
full of pictures I can't bare to see

please
  scream compliments that feel like daisies tickling my
cheeks
please
  feel my inhibitions dissipate you rogue aristocratic
tease

I spent months replacing old scars with new, nearly identical ones
(no longer self inflicted, at least)
and I spent hours looking in the mirror at the slight bulge of my stomach and the two mountains I called my hips
thinking
   "oh, these are such a lovely addition to my skin. oh, I wish they would last."
             and I wanted
nothing more but the constant reminder that I, yes I, was something worth destroying, because
to destroy something means that something was once worth looking at and deciding to
act.

he went in a man and came out a boy
his eyes crystals
hands tingling
short hair grown long and
     unkempt.
he went in real and came out new
his legs felt still
hands in my hair
face against my chest until we
      wept.

i crawled on my knees into a
new year
like evolution in
reverse.

white sheets in a strange room
dim lights, bright eyes.
i love it when you **** me, i love it when you're inside of me.

i miss you when you were
******* beautiful
with black eyes and thick eyelashes;
i miss you when you were
a mountain man with long brown hair.
i miss you when you were
untouchable and desired
with a broken nose and broken teeth;
i miss you when you were
a sentient being with stories to tell.

[i'd
like to be inside of your mouth
and find new words hidden under your
tongue]

In terms of lovers
you were the       best.

In terms of pain
you were the       relief I craved.

In terms of endings
you were the      sudden
             stop of
                             a beating
             heart.

i'm sick of your *******-knowitall-i'mtheking attitude
your listentome-i'malwaysright-goaway aura
your shuthefuckup-can'tyouhearmetalking-******* demeanor
[or maybe i'm just sick again]

they poke and ****
destroy your pride
pickpocket your perception
throw you aside
(they are plotting your demise.)