it was only meant to keep me alive.

I see how you did that
I see how you grew your fingernails long enough to wrap them around yourself
tasting cruelty on your unbrushed teeth? is it there yet?
you'll bite your lip to seem kind
: secretly let it bleed out to seem pained

you are so small
your biggest actions fit beneath my tongue better than a honey lemon
cough drop
the words said themselves,
I didn't have to put them in front of you,
you simply held out your plate and asked for more.
what more did you want?

it is too often that you hear yourself through a megaphone
mute it mute it, stop it
everything you want is hiding in your eye sockets
this moment is too microscopic you complain
it's too scary to see what's behind you
so I stand before you
mirror
hit me
look at yourself
hit me

there's nothing in my hands
nothing in my pockets
I'm not tricking you, and I never was.

you know you miss someone when you can taste them,
but you've never before
on the back of your tongue
                                                      wet bones in your mind
soft, skeletal, unreal
i'm feeling you now, somewhere between my forehead and eyes
makes for interesting dreams
and frequent days without food.

it hasn't been too bad
i've only lied a few times
maybe six or so
and thought of you hardly ever.
(i'm hoping that makes up for everything else i've been thinking about)
a six pack should hold me over until i can clock more hours
until then, i'm a cigarette ****
and a half-chewed burger: "****. i don't eat meat."

seconds accumulate the same way dust will
my breath isn't strong enough to blow it all away
that's why i asked you so many questions
should've used the rear view mirrors before they broke....oh well.

something in the air tells me you don't like me back
that your plump sides
drooling lips are really nothing but an anecdote
and everything i've forced myself to feel for you is nonsense
blended in a juicer, foamy like a latte
nonsense

*** was the beginning
when a baby became a whale,
skin like diamonds and cotton candy.
They left their son early,
drank many colors and tasted the seven wonders,
breathing slowly so as not to wake the gods.

Their potatoes turned to meat and tasted saltier than usual.
Once at the bar, they drank nicotine
with their eyelashes.
God told them, "*******!"
and they touched each other on the knee
because abstinence from *** feels like cotton mouth.

They stole their child's heart
because they needed a second chance,
but they kept the body to feel less like aliens.
They lost reality in words,
unspoken or spoken.
Their son listened through his eyes,
regretful of his age and of the times.

They began to feel their actions more softly,
taking deeper breaths and
moving in slow motion.
The thoughts made their skin heavier,
their chins began to wrinkle,
their touches became cold,
and the only way to feel warm was to

the air beneath my feet is rotting from within
felt through thick skin,
underlying feelings.
I can taste your words beneath my tongue and on my bottom lip.

I swim to float,
to fall for eternity where I can be caught
to whisper secrets and not be heard.
It works with dancing and breathing, too
feels like lightning
sounds like thunder
dances like rain.

When I come home to an empty house tomorrow,
I will smell of him
and of his mother,
but I will wash it away with Downy
while I drink until I am thirsty.
The cat’s gone out for coffee,
leaving me to wonder where I’ve hidden all my mouse traps.

Sometimes there are reasons,
but mostly there are not.

i can feel my feet swelling already
thats how you know when it will be too heavy
or when you will not be strong enough
there are no dots to be connected,
and i want to speak but i know i am the only one who would listen.
my stomach keeps asking me to pull out the drawer
and spill milk, but it's empty so what good would that do me?

the air from my ears is sweet like honey
steam forms your body in my mind, where's my apology?
where's my money?
i can't ask, that defeats the purpose, and all i ever seem to be doing is pulling on yarn hoping to find something at the other end
i'm only unraveling

i need sleep
and a movie
and time to plan my future without worrying what a bald man who wears shorts in the snow will think
or a shiny man who doesn't cover his knees
or a grey man who thinks he can treat me as if we are sexually intimate.
tell me if i'm being oversensitive, okay?

Well, I'm not.

the boots could stand without a body
or lips to kiss
her essence was in them full like water
she would shout and not be heard through all the smoke
now it is clear, but she is silent

there's always too much to figure out or trust or not trust
when you're seventeen and gorgeous and sorry
but he should be sorry, not me,
he never looked at my **** like they would fit into his hand
or into my eyes like they were oceans/moons/something surreal
milk tastes better with chocolate syrup
until you get older: you like bitterness in your hot mug
and in your eyes

roll up the bible like a pillow in your lover's bed
you are your lover
i am my lover
we are lonesome
scared of touching feeling lying asking knowing scared of being scared

now i'm tired of not feeling things that need to be felt
I see it in so many crevices like bookshelves
and cd cases
hiding behind some sort of transparent anger
and now it's about him again and his thick fingers and immature, un-trusting ways.

i keep trying to make things about you,
but maybe I need to stop looking with my glasses on.
there are no secrets, only words that mean nothing.
I collect them in tiny jars and cabinets.

he held my hand like he deserved it
and i'll hold yours like I want it
if anything in the world made sense then i would stop trying to figure it out
but i'm here listening to my parents yell at my brother for sleeping
and listening to my brother say **** and **** and ******* and words that only sound good in the daylight

if I wasn't alone on this couch,
things would make less sense.
but we are
and I am
with **** yous seeping through the walls to remind me i'm at home

when he touches you is it like gold?
eyes like prying words
scalpel,
tweezers.

******* look at me when we're talking,
like the soft skin of my back
and the orange marks you drew with a gun
back when we thought it was safe.
everything was safe.
cigarettes were safe.
it doesn't make sense.

they take longer drags than they should,
but their fingers are longer.
it makes sense.

you play this instrument
so that you can tell me the things you can't express with words.
you cannot make a sound yet
you have no feelings.
it's mixy
it's a     w    or
d.

you'll just have to trust me on this one.
no matter how tired you are.