i want to be the sidewalk under her soles
the gum in her hair
that dark slick of mascara.

i want to breathe the world from her lungs
settle into her bones and
feel it through her fingers.

there is a perfect mauve i picture on her nails.

so yeah i guess i have a type.
dark hair glasses a threat or two-
enough mystery to keep me busy.
and yeah i should have warned you about my
wandering eye.
temperamental.


but it’s not like you’re real when you’re gone

i wonder if her toes crack
if she sneezes three times
if i dipped my fingers into all that hate would they
come out black

dripping ink.

you know, i tried to remember
last year and how that felt.
i tried to remember and i’m drawing a blank.

a splattering of starlight
a shattering of salt on her lips and
the way she spoke to him.


i’m not sure if this hurts you.
the way it’s always about a girl.

it's when he says something about
the 'feminine mystique'
that you know you want to **** him.

let your weak constitution drown in his blood.
girlish 'enough.'

there are some things you won't stand for.

There is probably a simple (enough) message
to be read somewhere along
the length of your spine.

I’m sure that I could find paradise
in the curve of your shadow
if either of us could just stop

and wait.

(just breathe a little deeper dear and i’m sure you’ll figure it out.
i’m too tangled in my own lies to ever really mean it.)