the moment before
hearing myself say things
for the best, this is for
us to be ok, friends
different places
do you have someone
do you have rachel.
i spent my break where your ribbons used to hang
your body leaving a soft leather imprint
“i made a mistake”
my mother gives me xanax
we watch shark television
and wolves rip through a bison
and i take a shower,
slicing open my belly under the hot water
and no one tells me not to.
(on loop: you in the water,
meowing “too hot”
you straighten above me,
and i wash your hair more lovingly
and you squint like a child against the lather,
and squirm)
i drive around for hours
and there isn’t anywhere you have not touched
with your eyes, those lunar orbs
circling me as i sleep
i light a cigarette with a cigarette
i don’t want to leave my car
my roommate is here with her ****** girlfriend
making unicorn cookies
and listening to sonic youth
when they stand pressed together,
i leave the room, burning my hands on the mason jar
and i wash your hair more lovingly
and you squint like a child against the lather,
and squirm
this pale landscape is streaked with blood
if i cut open my stomach
did i think you’d spill out
i did, i would.
and your hair is soaking wet
and you bow for the towel
and suddenly i am nothing.