sometimes
being outdoors just hurts
more than the dull ache of a morning with no aspirin
and more than the reflection of the shattered glass under my feet
sometimes
I evolve to cope
(but not often)
from neon paint reminiscent of a traffic stop, streaked across bark
to *** and la croix in trembling hands
sometimes
I wonder how your musician is doing
do you love him like you love frayed brushes and marilyn monroe?
sometimes
I say this is the root of it all.
perhaps my therapist would differ.

I sat on the cold hard ground
My tears soft as the velvet cloudless sky
Slowly breathing
Inhaling one star at a time
Trying to light up my mind
Feeling the ice crack within my lungs
Everything is in slow motion
My blood no longer runs like a rapid thundering river
Slowly it seeps through the broken arteries of my heart
So much has changed, I think of how much I have aged
I can feel the invisible demons clawing their way back
I will sigh as I can hardly control them
As they multiply like a virus
They are silently waiting now
Waiting for something
The perfect moment to release their toxins
But for now
I lay on the silent ground
Listening to the earth breath
Allowing the winter night to swallowing me
Nature keeping the demons at bay

You look best in my lamp light. Your belly scar
rough underneath my fingertips as I jump the scratch
and attach myself to your hips, kiss your pelvic bone
until even my teeth can taste your sweetness. I can feel
black kettles and the burn from the ironing board crash of 1999.
When we’re wrestling in my duvet covers, the shadows
cast your memories up like a sanctuary projection. I see red race cars,
your brother jumping on the couch, fishing bait kept
in your back pocket. Your lips taste like liquor but I hear nursery rhymes
from when you were little, wobbly, an over-all dream
in the yard seen through the kitchen window. I know,
that you’ve dressed yourself in bad dreams
and broke yourself over footballs and houses of green paper,
but you look best in my lamp light when my hands
cram your face into my palms, your blush dripping
from you cheeks. Because I see the way
you burrow yourself into my chest when you think
I’ve gone to sleep, and I’ve seen the way your foot catches
on the edge of the woodwork right before you fall.

when you tell me I'm in love with all our friends
I know it's a joke and I laugh along, but really, it's true.
I can't help but love so many
five
ten
twelve faces
Girls are so beautiful and boys are so beautiful and all others are so beautiful
I don't love you any less, I don't love them any more, but sometimes it overflows, dripping down the sides of my form
cutting through negative space
I have always been the one to sit in the attic, always been the one to savour the cold, always been used to metallic rattles and the feeling of coughing once more before I can pull away from from the back of my throat
and sometimes when I'm surrounded
by beautiful people and their conditioner words,
it just glows

If "disposable" is one of the words that come to mind when you think of me, even if it's intermingled with "beautiful" and "lovely"
I don't need you in my life

Every time we speak
I feel like things are looking up,
no matter what we speak of,
a residual glow is left behind, pineapple cake and birthday wishes; perhaps
we can move to new york after all.
Perhaps this will not be forever.
Drawing lessons and 1 am photos
are what is keeping me alive right now,
a protective world to shield me from the sandpaper reality
And I hope to god that when I call you at midnight
you feel the same.