I said let's do it in the shower.
She said baby, don't you know we're in a drought?

It slipped my mind, the television and the computer distracted me.
There's water coming out of the spigot and a beautiful friend is laying on my couch, I guess I forgot I wasn't dreaming.

High off hash joints and opiates,
I don't remember driving home.
My mother looked me in the eye.
Are you okay, she says.
I told her I was sick.


I looked at you in the morning and I was happy

My darling,
upon the mountain's caress.
My ******-friendly mess
in a pineapple dress.
I couldn't love less
or less of you.

Young explorer,
drifting from world to world.
A huckleberry eye
that shifts from trembling duress,
with my hands onto her back.
Why can't life cut you any slack?
The chair is going out under
as the skies are mumbling thunder.
My violin underneath the sin,
sounding from within
"...I love you."

Broken water
bounce from cheek to chest.
Your breathing sounds the best.
With my words onto your lips,
and how the saliva drowns and drips.
I grip around your hips,
with the world releasing a boulder,
that drops upon your shoulder,
and I shake you senselessly,
why can't god set you free?
I can feel from you to me.

Blood, down, to ever and let go,
with your body in the snow.
My river-drowned girl,
engulfed by the swirl.
Love, oh no, from year to year.
Your words so everclear,
"I love you, too."

Silver-shiner,
moon-kissed and ever so,
your feet on the bathroom floor,
the kills from the handled snore.
What I wouldn't give to drink
from your fountain.
What I wouldn't give to die
on your mountain.
My darling, from colored-t.v.,
with a kiss and a motel fee,
I could know what the known couldn't,
with my fingertips where they shouldn't.
Turn down the volume and say
that you'll stay another day
or three.

Here I am baring my scars and there are people calling me brave and this is never what I wanted. I wanted to show you my scars because I feel like a fraud and I wanted to show you my scars so you would know how pathetic I really am but you don't understand, my scars are not battle wounds, they are not badges I've earned, I do not wear them proudly, my scars are representative of all the times I was too weak to fight those battles, my scars are surrenders and do not call me brave if I didn't even bother fighting. I wanted to show you my scars so you would stop telling me how strong I am because I am not strong, I am weak and I am still hiding from you because you think these scars are things I have overcome but these scars are the very things that haunt me and who are you to know what I am going through simply because I have told you? I am falling apart and these scars are reopening, I am falling apart at the seams and you are calling me a hero but heroes do not hate themselves like this. Here I am baring my scars and there are people calling me brave and this is never what I wanted.

this morning, i awoke with a million different things swimming through my brain's waves and wiring that all could be summarized in only four words, picked at, scraped down, and peeled off completely raw:
my heart is hurting.

if the people at that party could physically see it in action, it would be on it's hands and knees, crawling to the nearest and darkest corner to hide in. no one seems to think you deserve me and no one has any patience and no one is waking up this morning, clutching their knees to their chest at the thought of the curve of his smile, making me want to meet god just so i could thank him for it.  

and i think it's almost insane, the way this world works. how i stayed on the porch with him until the sun came up even after he said he'd only stay for a little while. how we talked so loudly of loneliness but hadn't even slightly exhaled the word itself. how he's a figment of my past but he made my world feel new again. how all of the people that want me around are pushing me away because of the way he leaves me and showing their teeth because of the way i want him despite that- there is no kindness here- when the reason it hurts is because he is the most warm, tender person and understands the same thing about me.

it's a dog-eat-dog world and i am a 16 year old human, eating a burrito over the kitchen sink in my underwear at 5 o'clock, monday morning.

Normal people don't want to hurt themselves.

I watch you breathe
as you sleep.
I'm afraid of what
you could mean
to me.

I study the stripes
on your shirt.
I think of all the
ways we'll flirt
and all the ways
we'll cry and I'll choke
with your hands
around my throat,
and Malboro Black
cigarette smoke
pouring down my
esophagus--
I wish I wasn't
so fond of us.

Love is for tin birds
in a flame cage.

Sometimes your arms feel like home,
They hold me tight, your hands
Stroking the back of my head,
Reassuring me that, yes,
I am okay and, yes,
Everything will be okay
Because you are here,
So there's nothing to fear,
And I couldn't possibly feel safer.
But sometimes your arms feel like a cage.
There's just enough air for me to breathe,
But I am trapped in your fierce, unwanted grip.

I'm sorry that I don't feel like sharing a bed
After I told you I was depressed and you
Told me to stop freaking out and calling you.
I'm sorry that your words hit me like a tidal wave
And brought me to the bathroom
With a knife in my hand.
I'm sorry that one, two, three, four cuts later,
I was bleeding out on the floor,
Practically unconscious, but awake enough
To see the growing pool of red.
You're sorry I resorted to harming myself.
I'm sorry that I didn't finish the job.

I grew up thinking that love, only love,
Could save me from myself, but maybe I was wrong.
Maybe love is the thing I need to be saved from.
Maybe love is the real monster here.
Every story has a villain.
I just never imagined that you'd be mine.

I love you when I'm high.
Sober me isn't a fan.
Then again, I don't really like anything when I'm sober.
Don't take it personally.