I burn with the sun
My bones blister,
vitreous fluid thickens,
heart explodes,
coating my ribs with thick
slabs of muscle.
Even in the middle of Winter
I feel my blood carbonate -
the platelets popping against the walls of veins.
Walking South down Bell Street,
the entire way I could feel my teeth
melting down the back of my throat.
My friend came out to me
when we turned the corner.
When I asked her why, she said
"Boys are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
You know they haven't found water on Mars, right?
You can drink women up."
I told her that's not true
Mars has water.

Outside the grocery store
a bike tire sits chained to a lamp post,
every now and then I try and shake it loose.
It wasn't after I bent four spokes that I realized
they found each other through neglect and forgetfulness.
That Summer I found out you killed yourself
I stayed inside,
Had play-dates with razor blades
My bike tires went flat too.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
I burn with the sun
My bones blister,
vitreous fluid thickens,
heart explodes,
coating my ribs with thick
slabs of muscle.
Even in the middle of Winter
I feel my blood carbonate -
the platelets popping against the walls of veins.
Walking South down Bell Street,
the entire way I could feel my teeth
melting down the back of my throat.
My friend came out to me
when we turned the corner.
When I asked her why, she said
"Boys are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
You know they haven't found water on Mars, right?
You can drink women up."
I told her that's not true
Mars has water.

Outside the grocery store
a bike tire sits chained to a lamp post,
every now and then I try and shake it loose.
It wasn't after I bent four spokes that I realized
they found each other through neglect and forgetfulness.
That Summer I found out you killed yourself
I stayed inside,
Had play-dates with razor blades
My bike tires went flat too.
Request permission to use this poem