i wanted us
to be how we
once were
so desperately,
so i took you to
the most familiar
place we'd ever
known.

but nothing
was the same
when we sat on
rooftops that
held stories of
the people that
were too afraid
of heights.


his name tasted
like june or
something else
worth forgetting,
with an aftertaste
of mid-july
and a lack of
self-awareness.

he had brilliant,
ever-changing
irises like
kaleidoscopes
and a mind
like a vacant
hospital bed.


and i know
that you find a
strange comfort
in the feeling of
crashing through
already broken
windows,

but my heart is
a wide open
window, letting
anything drift in
and fall out as it
pleases, over
and over again.


my nine-letter
name loses
it's meaning
after saying it
a few times,
just like
everything else.

and all i have
are ebony pupils
that stare and
ivory bones
that crumble,
inverted lungs
that shrink
and a backwards
spine that twists.







(i wanted us
to be how we
once were






but nothing
was the same.)