last time I saw you it was dark
your hands on my waist (your head in my hands)
we were quiet, like the empty road,
do you miss my voice? did it heal you?
for years we have been gods at war
(the sea and the shore, or something)
in your hands I found my beating heart so
what did I take from you?
last time I saw you it was dawn
your hands on my face (my head in the clouds)
you never meant to love me and I never meant to stay
(from the bottom of my heart you're what I've always wanted anyway)
it's the end of times (the worst of times)
did you hurt me? does it show?
on the streets of our hometown our hands are star-crossed
(worn down)
for years we have been gods at war
the sea and the shore
the ghost and the moor
you sicken me (my heart, my throat) and I'll never let you go
it's been years and you are winning
(and I wish you luck, I always do)
our hearts, star crossed, in the morning light
was it good to let me go?
the last time I kissed you I opened my eyes
did you see me? did you know?
(your voice was soft and the sky was blue)
I never knew I loved you till you loved me too

i don't write anymore
when i am alone (and i am mostly
alone) i spit at myself and it does not stick
i'm a cruel and spiteful host i grew up in a suitcase so when winter comes  
i pack my things. get ready. get ready
on the edge of the bed i wait for it
i don't have time to spare
anymore
when i am alone i want nothing more than this low hum in my ears remind me
pick up the leaves from the ground, oh god, and pack them
bring them with you
i'm a cruel and selfish god (i grew up stuck with unstuck roots)
and i don't write anymore
pick up the seeds from my hands, oh god
i don't have time for them anymore
(i'll never learn to plant them and
they'll never stick
not really)

the mornings are dark and you get into your car asleep. mist on the windshield and mist in your eyes. the night is not over and you are not yet grown. the grass is frozen in your headlights and you park your car asleep.

- clocks bigger than your face loom on the walls. they are all two minutes fast and they are faces too, somehow. (except the one down in the back gym. he is an eye and he strikes six every hour.)

- the thunder of footsteps. the thunder of bodies and voices and wind through open doors. you can feel them in your bones but when you open your eyes you are alone and the halls are dark. water rushes from the classrooms and you swim.

- your teacher says that god has brown eyes. when the lecture ends she bares her teeth. (you could swear they're pointed but you've never seen her up close.) her eyes are grey, like yours, she says. so you don't worry.

- in the art room your teacher draws circles on the whiteboard. one inside the other - ringlets, a bullseye. a girl in the back of the class has wild eyes and green hair. she smiles like she knows something and you drop your gaze.

- pencils break in your fists. the halls are a river and you don't know where it's going. your body is a raft so you close your eyes and you don't know where you are.

- you touch hands with the girl from art class. she smiles like she knows something and you shudder. she feels warm inside, like a song, like a comet. you take her hand and hope.

- you sit in the back of the class and the windows shudder but they hold. your teacher says that god walks on all fours and you grimace. books close around you as she lowers herself to the ground.

- your car is asleep and you are dead on your feet. your teacher is gone the next day and the substitute tells you beauty is in the eye of the beholder. you nod your head and you don't know where you are.