forgot to say everything or
anything. forgot to tell you
how often the stars rotate
whilst you spin twinkling
patterns out in footsteps, two
moments ahead. been so
**** down& out but
still still still still cascading
on this feeling, lingering out
of nights traversed. 'sometimes'
weighs down on me. sleeping
slow, to stay alive. to see you,
shimmering, lithe.

maybe there's nothing else,
these waves crashing
foreign chaotic tongue at
fingertips we held at rend,
this unhollowing ghost
is all yours.
this only moment.

deep breath, filling out,
this empty universe glimmering
between collected palms.
all else forgotten. just
you, just i.

Does your bed ever not feel like your own?
It is the way the sheets feel as they slide against your skin
Your blanket, though once resembled a warm safe place, now slowly suffocating you
with the scent of a far away lover
The one who had kissed you goodnight with a false 'I love you", on their lips,
then vanished without out a trace
before you could even catch your breath
They were the one could fill you with such an incredible sense of  hope;
yet make you want to **** yourself in the same moment.

falling out of love with you
was like falling asleep.
first slowly and then all at once.

I drank the bottle of ***** with hopes that it might erase you from my mind.
I burned the things you gave me hoping nothing would remind me that you existed.
I wrote you 3 pages of how I felt hoping it might bring me peace.
But none of them worked.
I still remember your face, how your cheek bones are perfectly shaped.
I was addicted to you, God, How you made me feel.
You're still in my mind rushing through my veins.
I can still remember the way you felt, your skin against mine.
You said I was your world but ****** you were my galaxy.
Nothing but sadness consumes me now,
dead flowers and butterflies lay in my stomach.
You killed them the day you started doing what you did.

with a boy whose palms seemed constantly marked
with calendars. lying next to him
in his twin bed covered in blue sheets
I made the mistake of asking him to sing
me psalms -- neither of us

were religious. I told him
that his room smelled like an old church
and that I’d only been to a church once
with a childhood friend
and that everybody there drank the blood of Christ
except for me because my family
has a history of alcoholism

the first time I saw his stomach I saw his
whole body and his knees looked tombstones

the first time he saw my stomach he saw my whole body and I whispered
over and over again silently underneath my breath
silently like an anxious fire ‘do not look at me’ the first time
he looked at me he told me I fainted: that night I
had dreams
of cutup magazines,
of hands that only bleed in playgrounds. somewhere that night
lying atop his stomach we heard a girl next door
screaming the way owls do. I’d seen her the morning before
and she’d been beautiful like an old wedding dress.

rapids running into rivers into rivers into rivers

Wilt my lungs
I’ll breathe in bitter bloom
And fill my chest with concrete tombs

At twenty one I exhaled tar
And covered my birthday cake

Ribs for the skyline
This city built a church round my heart
Before some gutter punks spray painted the side of the stained glass
With the suicide rates of middle-class citizens

Nothing has been the same since

When I was young
I was raised on Disney
And taught that my bones were living things

At thirteen years old
I nestled a heart within the clouds and smoke of my chest
It suffocated to death

I’ve never broken a bone
But I’ve trailed plenty of marrow