Poison,

Planting roses inside me.

Flowering out my mouth.

I choke on your decay.

Two shots down,
gunman,
*****,

Broke down,
side of the road
side of the bed,

Follow me,
fall asleep,
I went through the wrong doors,
I fell down the stairs.

You're a ******* thunder storm.

Walked three paces to the west,
turned around
you shot me in the back.

Five rounds of blanks,
and I took
the one shell shock,
of a hollow point.

Where there was once,
strawberry fields
with sun and bare feet.
We've left nothing
but cold blood on ice.

I need this Melancholia,
I need this
hard breath
of cold air,
freedom of
roaming hands
and
stomping feet.

I need
blankets too tight
clothing
too loose,
to help
dissolve,
discard,
and decide
who
what
I am.

There are,
pine trees
in my blood,
and
cactus thorns
on my skin.

I am bent,
and freezing.
My paint is chipping,
and I am starting
to c r a c k.
Rusty and rotting,
but not broken.

My pipes tick,
and are slow to start,
but I am still moving.

I need
broken bottles,
empty bottles,
half way through me,
then back out.

I need
cascade into darkness,
inky smears
from too much pen.

I need
high on my own supply
high on my own high,
sinking
walking
breathing.

Things have been so weird lately,
I need the chaos,
the uncertainty,
the madness.

I'm feeling around in the dark,
on my hands and knees,
picking up the pieces.
I'm blind,
but I'm putting myself back together.

Watched and waited,
your body
ebbing and flowing.
An ocean
within me.

Tall,
and
sprouting wings.
When I closed my eyes,
I flew away.

Freckles,
I'm a sucker
connecting dots,
making constellations
out of you insecurity.

I told you,
you were a galaxy.

When you broke my heart,
left the pieces,
shattered
in a photo frame,
I picked up
the star dust
and blew it all away.

and when I shut my eyes,
I realized
I could still fly

I tried to take your pictures down,
pulled the tacks
right out of my head.

You're a sticky fellow,
and behind the pictures,
there are scars on the wall.

I want to say,
"Remember that one time... when we..."
But I don't want to remember.

I want you to go away.
So I went away.

You're still here,
but you're not here.

We haven't spoken in months,
but why does it feel like you won't leave me alone

I see you every night,
I wake up and sometimes,
I can still feel you on my mouth,
smell your skin.

You're so far away.

How does something so dim,
burn so bright?

I'll probably never know,
why people sleepwalk,
or what I ever saw in you.

How someone who can be so terrible,
can be so
magnificently wonderful
simultaneously.

You were
temporary ink,
but it feels like
a ******* tattoo.

*I'll bleach all my walls
until your stains are gone

Where words once flowed like a river,
I dammed up my mouth
with your soft skin,
you have stolen my art from me,
slipped them right off my lips, thief.

The truth is,
I have been pouring my words into you,
for quite sometime,
you eat them like candy.
I have not been able to put down your hand
long enough to grip a pen.

A month ago you told me that you loved me,
there were tears in your eyes as I told you I was leaving you.
You told me you loved me and you loved me and by god I loved you too.

Sometimes I kiss you and I swear it's so sweet I could choke,
sometimes I spit you back up because you've spoiled in my mouth.

When exactly will you stop drawing
in the margins
of your notebook?
When you are 35 and sorting through your taxes,
and it occurs to you
that you haven't written anything but your name
on real paper
in the last 8 years.
and, my god, when is the last time
you used
a pencil?
*Why did you stop drawing flowers?