Can you tell?
  Can you guess?
That there's a beating, in my chest,

But my heart is not here.

There's blood, tissue, bones,
  But the emotions are clear.

My mind does not live with me,
  nor my heart.
We are apart.

Where are you.

A beating heart, outside the cavity of my chest.

Where is it.
Can you tell,
  Can you guess?

I crossed my bed to find you
and found the Atlantic Ocean instead

I told you once, that my nihilism
was the only thing I ever bet with.
I wasn't lying, then, really,
when I told you I had nothing to lose.

even after a hundreds years of abandonment,
people still will visit ruins.

I inject venom at your words
yet every syllable is still a password to Heaven.

It's easier to hate a lover than a stranger.

halfof   the appeal   isthe f o r m a t    !
         ((cold blood doesn't bleed
         if your
         heart doesnt beat))

when
the    snow
is falling—

(my blood runs black_)

oh—when
the snow is
f a l l  i   n     g

You're not my first or my final
but you can be my favorite.

It is five in the morning, I think,
for I cannot see the clock,
and the contacts are out of

     My eyes

ache with a hollow unknown.

How pitiful, I must be,
When even sleep will not take
     my sorry soul.

In dreams of night and dreams of day
I dream of concrete where we lay
In rays of sun: the gaze we weigh.
We stay and wash away the grey
We stay and never fade away
Only in dreams do we ever
               Stay.

Of back rows, front rows—
Broken eye contact—Day dreams—
And quantum physics.

Your absence, a petty guilt,
threw daggers from the inside my my mind.
A personal demon dragged up from Hell to replace you.
He picked up your old ****** needles.

Put them to good use on me.

"You're sweet, little dove;
now bend down and **** me like
a good girl. Good girl"

I am
the butcher who chopped apart her soul—
Drained blood into words.
Ground the bones into a bag and
Fed it to the birds

Sleepy sunset.
Fiddles clicking
keys
into locks
of hair
breadth apart.
A part
of something
much more grand
then we had ever
planned.

WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN, THE FIRST PERSON I WOULD EVER GROW UP TO LOVE TOLD ME THAT TO BELONG WAS THE GREATEST THING HUMANITY HAS ACHIEVED.

"JE SUIS A TOI, TU ES A MOI, I AM SORRY FOR MY AWFUL VERB CONJUGATION."

I AM THEIR AGE NOW AND DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

WERE YOUR IDEAS FORMED LIKE HYDROGEN TO HELIUM OR WAS IT OXYGEN, LITHIUM, CARBON, COPPER.

I AM NOT YOURS, YOU ARE NOT MINE. MAYBE ONE DAY I WILL WANT TO BELONG TO SOMEONE BUT I WILL NEVER WANT SOMEONE TO BELONG TO ME.

I wish I could have told you before—
That all of your problems stacked up
is less than the distance
you jumped from.

we took no pictures and shared no public words—
the most noticeable love:
the one that almost never even existed.

all you left on me was fingerprints
and even those have started to fade

i      have      lines—      i      have     a     title,
i      had     a     head—      i       have     a    body,
but            i     have    no   structure  and   no common themes    to   me
no    hook  and    no  conclusion
i    am    a mess  of      l e t t e r s     and   run   on  sentences and  no       commas      and       no     periods        and       no       pauses
people       like    purpose  and       i       am  a    waste  of    your       i  n  k

three circles will linger
in my grave when i die
one ring on my finger
two under my eyes

It happened again.

I can't remember the last time it happened because my mind
doesnt exist
between milliseconds
I wrote this today
Posted it yesterday

In front of her, lies—

                  —What,
                  are you looking at
                  Mother?

"Nothing, dear. Just
the clouds against a seventh
day's barrier."

My people, I
Am tired of grass,
The blades are tasteless
And it takes much too long
To fill this growing flesh.

Let us eat the bugs
That eat the grass;
And save ourselves the time.

My people, these crickets
Are too crunchy,
And once again,
I am eating for days to fulfill this need.

My people, we
Have grown so big
That we must go
One step above
And pierce the sky
And eat the Gods.

This fence between our lawns is failing but we will still keep these lines drawn, like spray paint on the side of a closed restaurant.

And I will look but never cross the line.
And I will look but never cross the line.

I, myself, perhaps a sinner.
You, ourselves, we are:
The saint.

i stay up late, lately
waiting for the day when i call you the wrong name—
the wrong syllables in the right mouth.
because that's the way i was taught
and this is the way i will teach you.

THE SEVEN-SECOND GENERATION.

White plastic hanger, previously molten molecules, bleach additions and thermodynamic repercussions. I use the word thermodynamic because "chemical" has a falsely truther connotation to it. It hangs the shirt I choose to wear for tomorrow.
A hanger is a hanger is a grocery bag.

There were actions behind every reason—but not reason behind every action.
And you don't talk about it, but you think about it—because you don't want the whole world to realize that it's loneliness hidden in that shirt. You were only trying to tell yourself that maybe buttons on the other side was for the better.

I forgot which words to capitalize in a title so I took capitol on them all.

There was a world once, out there, somewhere, that cared for more than seven seconds. They hung up the power button, asked the tide to come closer, and walked until their hair was wet.

Kept going until water kissed water within lungs.

You said you were drafted
and I
misunderstood.
For a fleeting second I almost thought
that I could pull you out of my drafts, polish you, and publish you.

I thought I was the horizon
who blocks ocean and air
from ever marrying.

No,
only birds can overcome me.
Gravity
gravity
gravity.

I touched you and I took you with a sip of wine but I
(contrary to what I thought at the time)
made the mistake in thinking it's make
you mine.

must be a lesson
or at least a sick sign

I need you to
Hate me
So you can live
cageless.

I will always find
yellow feathers
in my bed.

"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."*

I say it twice.
Not to enforce a point
but to give both of us
a copy.

Scent is nostalgia
when I sprayed you around my room
in the days of september
(of church doors closing—
of burning love letters—
of tipping heads back—
and swallowing)

My uncle killed himself and the only kind of suicide note he left was a grocery list.

You will never find

what you want—

Only what you wanted.

you fade like mist dissipating over water and
my neck turns less with every calendar day crossed off.

you were made of
good intentions, thin hips,
and soft shoulders.

i was weak,
with bruised knees,
and thought with my lips.


if we were to ever agree on a god:
he would be physical—and he
would know our secrets.



he would be made out of them.

How sickly, the world of man
Who devote only
but a day to all
expression.

i keep a secret
on the inside of my bit-
ten, ****** cheek. ow.

I ask you not
to step on and snap this silence
that the city bus creates
humming gently into a permanent
tread mark.
A footprint of
the squinting spark.






Silence!
Speaks to everyone.

I drunkenly wingman my dreams to my realities.

you spoke the words and they came true—
heaven had a crush on you.
they placed you on that cold bronze throne
as "gold dust rained down in sierra leone."

I am

Watching adventure
Through my glass bedroom window.
What more must I say?

You use italics to cover up the fact that all of the words you speak are your father's.

*"Because no one wants to tilt their head to read between the lines"

what much affection
believe you earned-her.
once loved to learn-her.
help-her, hurt-her,
oh baby, choke-her.

the water was cold and your tongue was blue—
you made me feel like liquid iron
with a crown of golden seaweed.
the water was cold and your tongue was blue—
color slipped from your eyes as the waves took you home.

oh hips, i'd gather all them,
(your spine i deserve).
i'd much rather call them
a coastline than a curve.

So shining, so vivid, so bright.
You were a star,
My genie at night.
You were so far.

So many girls looked up,
They thought it was love,
But you only hooked up.

I tried to be special,
to stand out and shine.
But I'm only human,
I can't claim space as mine.

The other thing that I want now,
Is for another star to show you how
It feels to be played,
Looked at by the sun,
And know you weren't the only one.

I'll look upon you, falling star.
Sinking closer, no longer far.

My wish is for all the girls you've played,
To think, to dream, recall,
and make wishes from your downfall.

God's firmament: only
a child's planetarium projector—
If only I could project my
vows in a sphere of light
with even a handful of batteries, all the
eyes in the world
could see how ******* thin
my gossamer guilt is.

My conscience is silky smooth
like Venus-razored legs.