here, i've built up
a collection of kilometers;
a fever, written out in stains,
coffee against fingertips; an
indomitable anomie. this
room gets messier by the day,
it won't be clean come
winter. spring. the day you
decide to break down and
call. there are twigs between
these disheveled sheets.
                                        i'm
stagnating. i'm fluorescing,
only for you. only, you can't
see it. just yet, at least.

increments grasp in quiet
moments. sometimes this
clay in my eyes takes your
shape. sometimes i wonder.
sometimes i wish you'd come
over. all times i fall a little
further down.

i've been here before.
but not like this. drowning
on open land. quietness
by any other name.
propinquity, or inertia.
or simple lonesome.

predictably, i lose dreams.
you lean in close,
eyes alight.

I am a spider weaving my life
Onto my web, but I’ve gone
Too far again.
Someone is tangled up in my
Gossamer strings and I haven’t
The heart to let him out easy.
To let him go would be leaving
Myself lonely once more and
What’s the point in lacing if
No one gets caught.
Mother always said not to play
With your food, but no one
Ever said the food
Would play back so well.
So I continue with no
Intentions nor reassurances
And hope the bug learns how
To fly out on its own.

Her cheeks lifted and the corners
Of her mouth turned up ever so
Slightly into an all knowing smile.
Oh yes, those lips knew the
Whispered truths of her peers.
Only fools let go of treasures and
What a lost treasure it was.

And so I end Christmas in
Tears just hoping you feel
At least a little bit sorry for
The way you are. But then,
That's the problem; hope.
It's silly to have hope that
You act any different from
Usual. But still I hope for
Many things. Like that you
Read all the things I write,
For you are the fuel. I hope
That doesn't make you feel
Special though, it just means
You know how to break things.

i try to look in the mirror before i leave but i barely recognize the face staring back. my skin looks too thin for my face and my eyes are not as bright as they used to be. i like the way my ribs ****** through the skin of my torso.

the party is loud and slightly sweaty and no one seems to mind much that i’ve barely said a word and i don’t mind either but i want to go home, home with my soft bed and the quiet dark of my room and home where i can be alone. a girl i haven’t talked to in months nudges me and yells over the music God youre such a ****** with her wide teasing smile as i eat a tortilla chip and she doesn’t know that all i’ve eaten in the past six days is half of a small apple, in tiny precise bites

she doesn’t know

outside it’s cold and sharp and i wish i’d worn a longer dress or a coat and the only one out there is james who sometimes stares at me a little too long. he’s smoking as usual and he passes it without a word. i’ve had a few too many drinks and soon we’re laying in the damp grass and im crying and i admit how hungry, how ******* hungry i am, and he’s very quiet until he kisses me helplessly and i can’t stop crying

it’s been over a year now and food is not my enemy anymore. we’re not friends but i can eat now and i let myself buy lunch a few weeks ago and i laughed along with everyone and didn’t think much about the calories passing my lips and it felt good

baby steps, baby bites

everything is becoming okay

i miss you and this is as much poetry as there is in me

I. The first time I found the bag of needles and powder in her backpack I left and said I would never come back but she found me sleeping in the cemetery that night just like I always did when things were bad especially at home. I said a lot of times that I would never come back and I always did. She said a lot of times that she would stop and she never did. I still remember every plane of her face from feeling it in the dark. I wonder if she's okay but I can't care anymore.

II. I liked how she felt in bed and I liked how I felt in bed with her.

III. She called me at 4am a few times and talked to me so quickly I only caught half the words she was speaking and I couldn't stop smiling but when we hung up the room felt much emptier than before.

IV. The gun looks absolutely nothing like a toy in her hand despite what I always read. I wonder where she got it but my mind is more focused on other things like the slick chill of the metal against my face and her carefully painted lips very close to mine. I'm torn between staying perfectly still and trying to kiss her and while I try to decide she takes off the safety. It is at this exact moment that I realize how unstable she is and I know I've never been able to predict her actions, only her lies. I have no idea what she might do next and I love her.