we were like strangers who knew each other very well, meeting for the first time in a fleeting moment. our bodies foreign to each other’s touch, all passing glances and timid hands, but it could never last too long. someone always had to go, someone always had to return home, and there was never enough time. we’d become strangers again, dreaming of good morning i love yous spoken in tongue, written between skin, read between limbs. and slowly memory would fade, skin on skin fall faint, until all remnants of our existence withered away.


― until we meet again

my wrists ache with desire and these lungs hitch
and heave with each sickening sob.
as my body begs to feel,
and my heart begs to not.

— to feel everything and nothing at once

i have died a thousand times
of a thousand cuts
of a thousand broken hearts.

— but tonight i experience death for the first time
​

i exist in conveniences;
in habitual i love yous
and obligated i’m here for yous.
in calculated i cares
and loathsome i’ll listens.

i exist in conveniences:
i love you (when it’s convenient)
i’m here for you (when it’s convenient)


— i exist (when it’s convenient)

i like the rain.
the sound, the smell, the feeling against my skin.
its warm water seeps into my roots and and feeds my restless soul.
but it’s raining a bit too hard,
and my leaves are falling,
my flowers are wilting.
petrichor stains my stinging lips and fills my lassitude lungs.
there’s too much water.
rain turns to rivers and rivers turn to waves.
i’m afraid i’m drowning.


― i need a minute to breathe

my heart hangs heavy this morning
and air escapes my lungs easier than it comes.
drowning in the silence
and the static of what you say,
i am alone today.


— nothing has changed

i am so tired
of breaking my own heart
over misconstrued manipulations
of the english language.

— a paranoid poet

tonight,
i am lonely.
tomorrow,
i will wake the same.
wrapped in sheets instead of arms,
in a bed absent of affection,
far from the only love i know.


— tonight i am lonely

how long
will your heart wait for me?
will it be forever
or until tomorrow morning?


― we talk of forever as if tomorrow is even promised

i write poetry of you every night as i fall asleep,
hoping that perhaps when i wake that i might keep
this perfect image, this perfect moment,
this perfect feeling of you lying next to me.

― sweet dreams

between numb and nothing,
i was somewhere in between.
where you felt lonely,
i felt relief.

— we had two very different endings