I like this place.
I can take three weeks
to change my age.

Happy Birthday.

Now admit it
to the poets—
who don’t really care.

I have lost her love.
I look for her in words—
the words that fill pages
of my stolen diary.

She has a few good days.
She fell in love.
His honey words
made her forget her fear.

He left.
And so did she.

I have lost her love.
I see glimpses of it
when I cook pasta.
In dance, in sweat—
I see it in my eyes.

She seems so far away.
I have lost her love.

I am wearing my brother’s old t-shirt
when I see you dressed in white.
You’re smiling next to her.
You’ve never beamed that way before.

You look so grown up.
The boyish charm all washed up
into the greys of your mind—
where maybe, a picture of me dies.

Funny—this is our end.
You leave my revenge undone.
I imagined it would hurt more.
But my heart is steadily sad.

Treat her better than me.
Keep the other quests at bay.
Have a home.
Have children.
Have laughter.

Maybe,
when I am wearing white,
my smile will prove
that you never existed.

I live my days
In hopes of you
All the noise settles
When your ghost walks in

I live my days
In hopes of you
I pretend to hold his hand
And search for you in his eyes

I live my days
In hopes of you
I saw you run far
and disappear into a dot

There it goes.
I tried—
thrice—
to catch it.

Slipped past me
like that summer
in the rain.

Wasted.
Desolate.
Alone.

It went away in tears.
They stream
down my dusky face,
slide
down the neck
where my shame hides.

You see,
Mother—
I am not blind.
I see it too:
a mirror to my being,
held up
in nails.

It’s vile.
It moves on its own.

And yes—
I hate me
just as much
as you do.

Three minutes of song
flooded my brain
with images of that night.

It felt like I was there again—
you,
me,
and a deflated mattress.

The window rattling in the rain
as we whispered
our darkest truths.

It’s night now, baby.

Do I still make you stare—
stare into the sky
the way we once did?

Or do I melt
like a snowman in the sun,
leaving a puddle
for you to run through—
laughing,
barefoot,
untouched.

Just three minutes.
I’ll be sure to skip it next time.

But for now,
you can consume me.

The world is weird.
I pray to gods of stone—
and ignore
the god in me.

They are placeholder men.
I wait for you.
You’re just an hour away—
why don’t we cross paths?

They are placeholder men.
You own my mind,
my yesterdays,
my tomorrows—
and my now
is you.

They are placeholder men.
I don’t want to hurt them,
but my bones are cold,
my hair is grey,
my body greedy.

They are placeholder men.
When I close my eyes,
it’s your name that appears.

It’s too late now.

Let’s call it a night.

I cannot sit with this disgust
while you thrive in life.
I make the wrong choices—
you stay right.

What a sad game
we play.
I always enter the fight
with my eyes tied.

The sores on my body
leak with stolen glances,
moonlight nights.

My bones turn outward.
I crawl to God—
forgive me once.
I beg
for the hundredth time.

Agony owns my heart.
It’s stuck in the yesterdays
where you and I
rot.