there's a hickey on my chest
and I know you are the one who left it there
because it is signed in the letters of your name

and if you come over...
I'll show you how it matches the black scratch ink between my shoulder blades

you called me, rambled nonsense of love lost through the telephone before saying you'd only see me if I promise not to write about it

as if you've ever known a moment with me that didn't one day end up on paper

fastforward after dinner, we're in the Costco parking lot
and somehow I think, we're both still hungry

you ask me if my new tattoo has anything to do with the way you get naked before the door to your apartment drops shut behind us
I promise not everything I do, I do with you in mind

but it's a quarter to eight and we're in the backseat of your car
(and if I had a dollar for everytime we wound up here I wouldn't even have to write anymore)

I am crushed between seats that do not lean far enough forward, when you finally notice the music has stopped playing

this is the first time in four years you have ever seemed uneasy in the quiet

so I kiss you until your body relaxes
you have cried three times since you took your shirt off
you don't stop telling me you love me until suddenly

your hands are everywhere
and I have permission to write about tonight because obviously this means we are still in love

fastforward 24 hours
I'm back in your car after a stop to the pub and there's enough liqour in me to drown out my voice

we fall asleep holding hands while the heat blasts like a furnace ready to burn down this so well put together home

that's two nights in a row I have lost my way home and somehow found myself tangled up in ... well not really sheets, I guess
maybe just each others clothes?

alright skip ahead another day
you're asking if I'll see you and for the first time in four years my answer is no

we promise a rain check and then next day I'm drunk again and only think
about kissing you until I fall asleep sweaty and with a pulsing headache

I'm thinking about leaving my job so I'll have more time to admire the way you look with all this confidence

it's only with you that I will ever say no to getting high
because with you I already can't feel my face

and I guess you could say I love it

my ex girlfriend is still the only girl I think about kissing when I get high
and I've been getting high a lot recently but I can't tell her that

so we don't really talk, but a girl I really like thinks I sound **** after two nights of staying up shaking
and puking until I've reached my lowest weight since I got sober

and the girls at work like me around but hate watching me scratch
my brother asked me if the scratching means I'm shooting up again but I haven't touched a needle since the last time I had ***
and boy has that been awhile now

but I guess needles are the only things I think about kissing when I'm sober
so it shouldn't be too much longer before one sneaks its hollow tip into the side of my wrist ..or the top of my foot

and my boss asks if I'm still drinking too much to be considered something other than dependent
and the truth is, I dont remember most of the time
if I'm still stopping after the second glass
because I'm always so tired and I'm always asleep by 5 p.m. but I'm always waking up sick from something

I can't tell if I just forgot to eat or if I'm crashing or if I miss you

I hope that I dont miss you, but I think I do
don't I?

You, sobriety, are my longest lasting relationship.
Even though I'm not exactly sure where we fell off.

YOU, ex girlfriend, are not really sober if you still smoke **** four times a day. **** is still a drug, whether or not you treat it like medicine.

And yes, alcohol (in the minds of those who matter) is still a drug, whether or not I treat it like medicine.

And no, this is not the long way of telling you to quit coping the safest way you know how. But stop telling your friends that you're better than me because at least you have some clean time.

The thing is, we both know what liquid ****** tastes like.. mixed with blood and running from the bee sting in the crook of our elbows. So please stop thinking you're better than me.

At any rate, at least I'm not breaking the law anymore. No one is going to send me back to jail for the six pack I keep in the fridge.

Today could've been eight months. And I will admit that it does make my stomach turn thinking about how much I'm willing to give up to feel whole again.


Hey, ex girlfriend, I hate the way **** smells mixed with your perfume. That's the reason I don't come around much these days.. but I know how much you hate the smell of whiskey on my breath so maybe that's why you don't seem to notice

I was 16 the first time a boy I trusted threw the phrase "I love you" like a hand grenade

"boy", because my mother taught me it doesn't matter whether real men wear pink as long as they are gentle with these vital pieces of you
calloused hands can still be soft
it all depends on the way they touch you

and in fact, I was 16 the second time too.. a different boy, bigger than me like the first
he didn't struggle to nail my hands to the boards beneath me
maybe because I was never strong enough to left his knees off my chest
Or maybe there wasn't much fight in me that day either

I didn't cry when I woke up naked in my best friend's bed that same year
And I didn't cry when they kicked me out of school because roofies sounded like ****** to their ears

so if I say their names out loud who am I giving the power to? is it ironic the way he has the same name as your father.. looks strikingly similar to a man who has never ***** me, just ripped his own daughter's heart out when he didn't stop someone else from doing the same to her

I was old enough to know better when I started going home with girls that only fed me pills in the shape of their lips
it was my own mistake when I started kissing strangers the way I kissed whiskey bottles

I was 18.. she told social media it was the best *** she's ever had.
19.. her hands aren't even calloused but I've never felt skin so rough
20.. I'd rather be in jail for the rest of my life than explain to my therapist that you weren't taking advantage of me if I'm the one who led you up the stairs

I am casual in the way I mention the finger shaped bruises they left on my thighs and my wrists and the rope burns around my heart after I tried to hang myself when I couldn't catch my breath after the weight of his knees on my chest
I promise that this are not things I dwell on
these are not memories that I am still bitter or angry over

and in fact, it wasn't until I recognized that it was my voice that has been screaming all this time
that i was even willing to name you.

until my best friend overdosed on the landing at the top of my stairs

and she cried and cried and screamed and she had nightmares for weeks and we slept on the couch until the dark by the bathroom wasn't so scary

"I never want to see you like that"

but I guess I had other plans
and she cried and screamed and she threw things at me and I was evil, so evil I think I hollowed out my chest to make room for the bad, the poison, the death of myself (and ultimately our relationship)

and I tried to die on purpose a couple of times, but never the times I was with her.
but there was nothing sweet left of me and she was so tired of drinking from my bitter lips
and breaking ribs

so playing at death's doorbell isn't cute anymore, it makes her sick to her stomach and I have the videos to prove it

but now all the bad stuff is gone from my body and my chest is still empty because I packed up my mangled heart and patch quilt lungs in your trunk of things and i never see you anymore
and I don't know how to call you and say that I need it all back

I am made up of thousands of tiny cracks in composure

I have a scar on my right wrist from a pair of handcuffs, when a cop was a little more than cordial with me
I've got at least two from running face first into counter tops or door frames..
I could name four off the top of my head that my ***** ex girlfriend left me, they look like shaky trails on a treasure map. maybe her excitement got the better of her, but I got her best..and worst
I've got a constellation of pin ****** across my shoulders of acne scars that'll never heal right after my seventh trip to lockup
And now that I've gained and lost my full body weight in five months, I've got three dozen pretty pink stretch marks I'm afraid won't ever turn white

And I guess besides that I have whole novels written down my sleeves.
Most of my arm doesn't even look like an arm anymore
And the only good I can say about that is, I was 17 the last time I had to cover up my "mental health days" with bright blue mickey mouse band aids
that's four years of wearing my wrist band that reads "I have healed now"
My patchwork is messy, I have to admit, but it holds together nicely

And now that they're all just gentle interruptions..nothing gory or too scary to see..I wear my own skin so comfortably
I'm not proud of the disaster I left on my own body, but I'm not ashamed that I made it out alive either.

"I have healed now" but I was there when you burned your own house down to try to feel warm again, and it's been four years but I remember the way that cold touched my bones, I wear this scrapbook of knife work so you know that the good days are coming, one day they will only be scars, one day they will only be memories
even if it takes time