she told me that this is what it was like to be a firestorm,and i believed her.youre not golden sweetheart,
none of us are.we're not meant to look nice.
this is for our eyes only.dont look me in the eyes
and pretend that you dont know what i mean
take me to the cathedral pour holy water over my shivering shaking bones
build a baby grand out of my corpse,honey,its the only one ive got.
dont pretend you dont feel it too
and even if ill never be as romantic as you,at least ill try
at least i wont leave you here
gasoline on pavement,dying the only way you know how
they told me i could be anything i wanted so i turned myself into a gun,
hollow like your stomach when all youve had to eat the past three days is stale ******* bread.
dont look at me like that.
i know all of your secrets and youre the one still forgetting about my jaw,the one you broke.
i see it in your eyes.we both know how this ends
but I wont pull the trigger on heartbreak hills
not until theres more whiskey than broomsticks beating us ******
cigarette **** wrists against a concrete wall,you always were one for a metaphor werent you?
jesus,babe you look so beautiful in this light.would you let me take your picture with the old kodak we pretend doesnt exist?
im sorry if this is forward of me,but i think id like it if you dug bruises
into my throat
loving the only way you know how,and this isnt the kind of love you see in movies
cause its not really love when neither of you can stop chainsmoking for a ******* second
to look at the way the sun glints off hair at just the right time.
maybe if i had sinners hips youd kiss me,just the way i like
too much,all at once.this,you say,
this is what its like to be a firestorm.
we tell people we're just close friends,like in the way real people are close friends,
we tell people that the bruises on both our mouths are just from the red wine,silly,isnt it obvious?
the train station is too crowded.im fidgety
and the woman in the dress sitting next to me is reading a newspaper article about string theory
i wonder if it tells her about the way i sewed my mouth shut one winter
(or maybe that was you.whatever.its the same ******* thing anyway,isnt it,you say.stop ******* smiling at me like that.you know its not funny)
i wonder if she knows that the needle does not have to be very sharp to pierce the skin.
lesson one:stop pretending that youre the dragon.
lesson two:god.god.god youre ******* annoying.cant you keep your ******* mouth shut?i told you not to tell anyone,you ******* *******.if you show up outside my house again ill **** you.
dont leave someone voicemails after they leave you for the subway station. they will not reply.
this is normal.
you called me a narcissistic ***** and i think you were right but at least i think im worth something,right?at least i havent given up on my collarbones,thrown
them away like they're ******* trash.but what i mean to say is,
at least im not like you.at least i dont have a scar on my upper lip.
stop telling me that the ******* is a ******* metaphor,
this isnt a novel and im not a vampire
and last time i checked your eyes were brown,not black.youre not a monster so stop trying to be one.
the woman sitting next to me on the airplane wont stop reciting bible verses but i dont feel any more holy than i did three hours ago.
this isnt a ******* contest.you cant compete with someone to be the most ****** up,god whats wrong with you
havent you read about cain and abel
this will end the only way it possibly can
stop hanging grave markers on walls,cant you see the marks on your fingers
this isnt a ballad for a dead man and i dont mean to be condescending
but i like the way you kiss people,ten days after the time of death
and maybe ive left you too many voicemails at three in the morning
and maybe i stained your pillowcase with whiskey and secrets
but listen up,honey,you need me more than i need you
dont lie to me,you know its true
youre lying down at the bottom of the gymnasium swimming pool
and somehow youve managed to find comfort in it
dear reader:im sorry.im sorry about the mixtapes,okay,you were never supposed to find them and-and ****,ive messed everything up.bye.see you soon,
i guess.

Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

A boy in jeans,
A boy in trousers,
A boy in braces,
A boy in blouses,
A girl who smells like summer sweat,
A girl whose makeup hasn’t set,
A boy who swears,
A boy who doesn’t,
A girl’s shoulder,
A second cousin,
A girl who smells of **** and beer,
A tattooed boy with a silver sneer,
A skinny girl who’s got T.B,
A boy who daintily sips his tea,
A girl’s left leg – bare or stockinged,
A boy so cold his knees are knocking,
A nasty ****,
A suede-head killer,
Kate Moss,
Sienna Miller,
Vivienne Westwood’s crazy teeth,
Bow-legged loons on Hampstead Heath,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, green,
Cold eyes, big eyes, sad eyes, mean,
Darling sweethearts in flirty skirts,
City-Boy ******* in well-pressed shirts,
Elbows, throat, wrists, knees,
A consumptive girl’s chainsmoking wheeze,
Blonde girls with their hair in plaits,
Skinny boys, short boys, muscular, fat –
Girls with pink lipstick like strawberry frosting,
I’m telling you man,
It’s ******* exhausting.

I'm chainsmoking your breath
Filling my lungs with your oxygen
I'm kissing your sweat
Using your body fluids like glycogen
I'm tasting your skin
My lips exploring every inch of you
I see your beauty within
I feel **** when seen from your view
I'm dressed in your shadow
When you meet my body from behind
Everytime you have to go
I wanna hit pause and then rewind
As soon as we're uncovered
I know we'll both be wetter
I love being your lover
When our bodies snare together

4 AM
Foreign film
Bored hunger
Dry throat.

Getting late
Parlez-vous Francais?
Chocolate craving
Sore chest.

Darkest hour
Prefer Spanish
More caffeine
Matchstick eyes.

Endless night
Travel needed
Coffee tea
Much relief.

I heard ten gunshots tonight
Five followed by five
What would you wonder?
Would you ponder the loss
The potential life gone
The end of that song
Among the mass
Do we even hear the gap?
A missing melody and shoe taps
Breaths taken and cigarette butts tapped
People ******, persons loved
Lively laughter, friendly hugs
They're all gone
But it's just one
Who will mourn?
Who stole out of scorn?
What did they use?
Who held the gun?
I'm not sure
But my cigarettes done
Maybe one more.
That's the funniest part
Because to me in my mind
This cigarette is my gun
And the death is my lungs

I can't remember the last time I frantically searched for a sharp object in my sentimental clutter, or the time that I drove out into the middle of nowhere, searching for trees that I knew would end everything.
I remember the feeling, of madness and chaos and desperation,
but sometimes it feels like a feeling I never really felt;
only read or heard about.
But I do remember it.
And sometimes, in moments of desperation and chaos and madness, I have the urge to drive back to those secluded woods, just to make sure there are no crosses with floral wreaths dug into the dirt.
But I don't.
I drive to the familiar home I've made my niche, decorated with sticky noted "I love you's" and laundry on leather sofas, with extravagant floral wreaths hung on the brightly lit porch instead, and I find comfort in the fact that this is the place where I can finally rest my head.
So do things get better?
Well, yes and no.
Yes, I still drink alcohol,
but these days I sip it rather than shoot it,
and some days I'll take a few short drags of the cigarette I've been smoking on for the last few weeks,
but I don't chain-smoke them like I used to,


and these days, I always wear my seatbelt and get back "I love you too."

She took in a deep breath
of the almost wintry autumn air
a rush of cold wind filled her lungs
and made her feel more alive
than she had felt in weeks

refreshing oxygen mixed in with the
poisonous smoke of her
lipstick stained cigarette

she walked down
the midnight moon lit road

her eyes pulled up towards
the night sky
innocent of all light pollution
and she gazed at the stars

they were so clear that night

she took a long steady puff
exhaled
and watched the smoke dissolve
into Orion's Belt

with one more toxic drag
she threw out her cigarette

she looked down at her small dog
and smiled

she deserves a longer walk
she thought

and I deserve another cigarette

Chainsmoking cigarettes 

because I’m worried of 

getting lung cancer

two men
outside a starbucks
chainsmoking through
a saturday lunch

the sun is up
melting the snow at my feet
i wait for a bus that never comes

And I have finally grown out of the roots of my suffering,
The gnarled pieces of my tumultuous past
That have left me barren so long.
I am in love,
A tortured soul cast onward
And ready to take down my foes.
The beasts I once let suckle on my breast
Are today torn away for
I now know the meaning
Of adoration in the third degree.
I rest my weary sons,
Finally relieved of battle to return home
And rest their weary backs.
I breathe today
Exhaling the agony of a million sessions of chainsmoking.
I love today
Like an uninhibited soul,
No longer basking in darkness;
No longer begging for forgiveness.

You're the reason
I'm not breathin'
alone again
chainsmoking this evening away
all I need is nicotine
caffiene
and self-loathing
to make-believe I'm fine
the drugs make me jittery
and the hatred is comforting
I know **** well
the answer's in the roots
this is about me
but this is about you

So don't call me to check up
it just kills me a little more
and if you're so ******* worried
why didn't you say something before?
I don't need your sympathy
to wake up on a floor I don't recognize
you call it addiction
I call it coping
passing out each night
hoping it ends before I rise
I pray to god
you never hear these words
because you'll laugh
and nothing's ever hurt me more than that.

you sit in a daze filtered with street lights
At eyes length and ears depth
You wonder how you got to be
The ******* the second floor balcony
Chainsmoking as if you heart would flatline,
Your blood stop flowing
Through your veins that
The tiniest bit of alcohol was seeping through
To the skin that only sometimes felt comfortable
If you stopped

Only comfortable
When someone else was admiring it
And the shadows that dance behind you
Are the shadows that you wished you were
In your eyes, when anyone says I love you
Clinging to it
Believing that at the end of the day
That they won't stay
Whirring sounds of cars pass by
Thoughts become softer, the world becomes louder
You're not quite sure what you adore more
The silencing of your being
Or the loudness of your heart
As every chore you do is reciprocated
In ways you prefer to love
And be loved.

And be loved.
To be loved, to be loved.
What a sight I imagine as my children grow
To see the life I sought
With homemade cookies
And scrambled eggs for dinner
With snapdragons and lillies blooming
As rain water collects by the play set
Outside in the plethora of greatness

To sit on a second floor balcony and consider
The life that brought you here
With too many cigarettes
And enough bad decisions to
Create the life you always dreamed
Wouldn't be your own
Stuck between what could be
And what is