i want to die inside yr ***** bedsheets
my teenaged years were mapped by hoodie string nooses, crystals shards, and hands tightening about my throat
i am still finding pieces of you at the bottom of this beer bottle
don't call me at 4 in the morning to tell me you smoked ****
we don't need to talk about this now
even if i let every plant die and burned at the edges
i only miss yr dog