your voice looks like you
big and goofy
deep and laced with your southern accent
it's leather and splattered with gold
it's sweet and sticky like your actavis
it's calming like the blunts you smoke
your voice is you
and i am in love with that voice.

your body reaches up into the sky like the buildings where you lived in harlem,
your hair and your jeans are dark like the tar in your lungs from all that smoking,
your face is scattered with dark moles like the night skies when you text me,
your smile is wide and goofy like mine when you call me baby girl,
your voice is deep and low like the rappers you listen to,
your hands are soft like the fleece inside your hoodies,
your hugs are warm like the texas sun that you used to bask under,
you're sweet like that cough syrup i drink,
you're strong like that *** i get drunk on,
you're calming like that **** i pack into a pipe,
you're fun like that extra pill i pop,
and you're my gentle giant.

your cheek is pressed against the grass
your face droops down towards the dirt you'll be trapped under
your lips are grey and chapped
your elbows are stiff and your skin is rubbery
your eyes are drying out and your eyelids don't stick to them
your body against the earth is slimy and wet
your skin is turning brown and rotten
and maggots are eating your tongue and crawling into your nostrils
and your ears will never hear your beloved
and your eyes will never see your beloved

i'm nothing special.
i'm just a collection of thin bones and heavy thoughts.
people think i'm special.
and they get to know me
only for me to teach them that i'm a bother.
i'm a bore and i'm sad.
i'm distant and i'm best at pushing people away.
i want to explore but i'm terrified
and they think i'm not interested.
i'm bland and i'm dying.
i don't matter. i'm just matter.

i'm a dynamic being.
i'm always changing.
i'm terrified of being static.
i don't want to stay the same.
i don't like myself and i want to change.
i never like myself.
if i was static i think i would die.

twinkling of the stars dangling over the edge of the sky,
fluttering velvet wings of a moth,
warm, wooden clinking of a wind chime,
the scratchy sound of a pen on rough paper,
smoke spiraling upwards towards heaven,
and the orange light cracks onto the walls.
your voice echoes into my ears and runs along my neck like a yell into a canyon; filling the spaces