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

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.

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.

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.)