lost my **** last night. keys, wallet, id. i have a theory that this is the universe in which i take every wrong turn. i walked down high street until i hit a dead end and kept walking. with all this midwest in my mouth i’m lucky i made it this far, but i don’t feel lucky. my friends keep bragging about how dumb they were to end up here. they almost make me miss hating myself for not breaking 2000 on the sat. really, i miss addy. i went back to the white boy, but it isn’t the same. i left that version of myself in michigan. leaving myself was the first wrong turn, but when i tried to make a u-ey i spun out and ended up here.

I saltened my lips of you, wore brown for days and tried to blend to the earth of my skin. I wore blue lips and combed my hair pencil thin. I painted my lungs red and lathered in the Puritan flow that warmed between my legs to the bitten taint of your neck. I killed your soul with my ashing hands. You said she ruined your life, you say I ended yours by hanging you from the hem of my skirt without ever saying a word.

i think i am lost


because i've felt nothing
to be right, anger in every
drink of water, i used to be soft
and gentle,

but I am too calculated now
bleeding white lies and pretends
soup broth, brittle bones
snapping beneath a touch
or shaken by a lust
awaken by a kiss
put to sleep all the same

I have so little to give
I have been fronting with
what my mother wants to
hear, and I'm afraid it's all
a fib,

what if I am only a shell of
words my father has spoken
paper mache and tea leaves
a prophecy spoken too soon
what if I am to fail
swallowed up in
this bitterness


what if I
am to
fail.

Blue wind encapsulates
in the midst of this ephemeral
autumn madness,
and my hands shake
as I try to forget.

I am just a human,
small and faulted,
trying like hell to squelch
the siren songs
of these maniac thoughts
buzzing like bees
through the empty spaces
within my skull.

I am just a silent body
and grey matter processing
words and colors
that feel truer
than any cheap emotions.

Cold light illuminates
and sparks nostalgia
and I am just
two eyes
retreating
into the mist.

is God by your bedside
weeping against the bookcase
and the cabinets in the
kitchen, filled with long
grain rice shudder and
tremble, vibrating against
their hinges --
it's all over the floor, you say.

it's all over the floor.

he moons his pale flesh against the hologram of my liquored tongue as my right ankle shed's red wine from my bones to my flesh, my marrow is hush-puppy-tan to the pulse, and as to the likes of you, blue satin-ed and confused, your love's blonde blunted curls crowd your cellophane lungs and you breathe in the smoke of her, pale toned and honest, just the way you fry them, quick and in hot oil. I wonder of she teases you with her soft lips like I could, but I suppose we'll never really know.

we're standing on the pavements taking pictures of our lives
pretending we are frozen every second passed in time
but what if we instead project the daily as it is
the broken up confusion and the sense we make of it
put everything in places they were always meant to be
and justify the cause for such decisions made by thee
let not the fear consuming all make way inside of you
rebuke it in the name of faith you carry tried and true
don't let the voice of others tell you what is right and wrong
you have a mind unshakable when rooted deep and strong