sometimes, when i lay down in bed at night
i still think back to being 13 years old and
sitting in that lawn chair on your apartment balcony
and smoking a cigarette, listening to the song
"hospital" by lydia
and taking in the words
"i'll never ever leave there, i'll never leave."
i thought i wouldn't, at least.
nothing really mattered when
side walks and street lights at 11pm
and never being alone, always felt heavier
than anything else, in the best way,
and i miss that comfort.
you were the last thing i could honestly call home.
that means a lot when you can't remember
the last time someone meant to
touch you.


we like to think that we are
made of beautiful things until someday,
someone opens our mouth and
bats fly out and we realize
we’ve been empty
the whole time.