holy ****
holy ****

am i an *******
just an *******


preach love beyond belief
*** and no text, purely grief



say to hold the one you love
hot neck, cold shoulder, lack thereof.

Those of wisdom measure it and not wit
And hopefully you've got enough
wisdom to measure
my wit?

love is patient,
love is kind.

thom yorke keeps telling me that true love waits
so why do i feel that waiting has made me weak.
(like i'm letting you get away with something)

i am not patient,
nor kind.
i am envious, and boastful.
i keep a record of how wrong i feel.

it's been a year and twenty two days and twenty three hours and fifty minutes and nineteen seconds and
i still can't tell if it was lust or loneliness
mean or meaning
all i ever really know is that
all i every really wanted was to sleep with you
in every sense of the saying

Las Posadas, oh, a lot of, tequila mañana.
I listen to Mexican Radio in my room.
Sit in my bed and
wait for tomorrow.

i only wish i could esc the thought of 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 read over St Peter and cry.

40 minutes until I board the plane.
12960 until I see you again.

catching buses to try to catch you
seven second view through a window
know that i was always blind, but

365 days you've been on my mind
365 days you've been on my mind

they are ashamed when i am finally happy
"but it is the only thing i look forward to"
they are happy for me when i am at my saddest
"you're better than that.
have some self respect"

"how can you take away my happiness
because it differs from yours"

"why do you do this to the ones you love"

i saw you one last time
before you crawled
under the couch—
back into all those photos
that i took of you

Never wrote of you.
Maybe now I'll write for you.
So here you go, you.

some boy once told me
when we were 16
"the way i see it, it's either you or the drugs— and i know which one i've chosen"
when i remembered that,
i laughed—
because it's funny
how three years
can change you.
it's funny, too
because when i laughed
i blew
the line away.

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

Fight me on the curb—
I'll hit you
right across
your sanity:
just like the way
your boyfriend never
mentioned me

The only difference between you and I is the lettering.

i scroll through names to count numbers


*AND THEN I REALIZE THAT I'VE FORGOTTEN YOU EXIST
but then you're there again
here again

I still remember how to spell your (real) name

I watch Magic Bullet infomercials and
fondly think of you
and how you would
laugh at every line
I recite
from memory.

4:59 in the morning and
my mind is a mix of
You, dreams and 5am-
All of which, I
have yet to receive.

(I see you in
      the    pupils      of my lover—
all you ever wore was black)

I wonder if    you hurt
to see     me

with             any other   but   you.

All I wanted was to sleep with you—
*(In both senses of the saying)

You       make    me         feel    like      this    is    more    than       a          "more than,"          a    "less than,"          an    "equal to."
                  More       than       infinity,    a    vector,    a    scalar.    A       page-fifty-seven-numbers-one-three-and-twenty-two.        More ­   than    "x"        approaching      it's       limit.               More       than      a   dopamine,       seratonin,       oxycotin         cocktail.


      I'm   a      little                   drunk    and                I       love       you.
               You're          worrying             and                               I       love       you.
   You're          overthinking       the          unthinkable    and       rationalizing    the    irrational    and          I          lov­e       you.
      You're    crying          into    my                ex­istence    and                   I       love          you
      You're    spinning    in          circles    on    the ­   second          time    we          hung    out          and  ­ * holy    mother          *******             God-playing-hide-and-seek,                         I             love          you.*

      You    make    me          feel    lik­e    Moses    parting                seas    and    leading    al­l    of    my    dreams    across    to    a    Holy             ­   Ground.
         Like    a             supernova    explosion             and    you're             my    black          hole.
Pulling
       me
                           in.

Pillow       talk    of       original    sin.

         You       remind          me          of       documentaries       :    curl       up    on          the    couch          and       spend    the       day             away     in       blankets             and          still                not       have               wasted    a           ****        minute.

                        I                   ­      love             you       more    than       words    can       know,    and       when    I       told    you    that,       you    held    me    tighter.
My    head       feels    heavier       but    my       heart    a       lot    lighter.

I       feel         lucky          to      know          you,       let       alone       love    and       be          loved    by       you.       I      don't      believe         in      miracles   but      I      believe      you      are            a         blessing.

               I    hopped       to    the       edge    of       my    bed    and    found    the       Atlantic    Ocean       staring          me       down
You    haven't       even    gone,    yet          I    still       find    myself    counting       down       the    days    until       you    return.

Plane hangover.
From my window I can see the
Tequila sunrise.

i met my seventh lover
seven months and
seven days
ago.
seven years
will pass
before his scent
sheds from my
skin
and seven lives
will have been lived
before i love
again.

You call me a sinner but I am sure I am a saint—
My body is a temple and I will let you worship it.

Fibonacci was wrong:
the only fingerprint that God left
is on the corner of my thigh.

you ran around screaming
*"if life were a race
you came first to me—
but you gave me 9th place"

They told me I could sell my body,
Instead I decided to sell my mind.
It's $10 a hit,
But I don't yet know
if this is harm or a high.

i want to write essays about your body
to preach you to ears who
have never heard
your laugh.

i want to create
constellations in your skin
and give each one a history
that i will read to myself
when it is the middle of the night
and you have turned away in your sleep.

because we don't need a background
in physics to know
that i will never
truly, fully, wholly,
understand you—
but you will always be here
covered in that cloud, oh
that cloud of unknowing.

"Greedy, selfish
street fiend."

I long for the day
when happiness is intravenous.
When people don't find you so
sidewalk sadness.

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.

I closed my eyes as my father dipped me in liquid gold
So then when I saw you I—

fell.

-
-
you are not special
you are not special
you are only
my imagination.
you are not my foundation, fixation, frustration.

you are fire flirtation.
pupil dilation.
tablet temptation.

closed circuit consideration.
and this is all you will ever be.
you were never my medication.

you are not special
you are not special
the mantra is *******

You fade away like the borders of a country I will only ever visit on a map

(A world government:
Takeover—
Dictatorship)/'


.

"if it fixes all of your problems
it will become your biggest one"*

you looked to your right
and then you left

You and I
were an amalgamate of
two forms of hatred,
sixty shouted swear words,
seven hundred kilometers of happiness, and
one thousand reasons to wake up,
smiling.

I look for inspiration in the people.
I find a hoard of ink, no paper.

I look for inspiration in the carpet.
I find an entire religion.

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)

"—he took my wallet but i'd much rather he have taken my soul"

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

I will always find
yellow feathers
in my bed.

When you get off work
—remember to brush
the quiet ghosts off your shoulder

Sad night for reminiscing
Charlotte counties, kissing missing.
Cinematic. Systematic. Relationship: static.

Charismatic with the diplomatic.
Rib cage chapel &
A phone call.
Traumatic.
A needle.
Ecstatic.
An addict.

I wish I could remember those digits on your dorm room
—of the third floor of a building
I only visited twice—
Because I would have written
three-hundred-something reasons
of why I wish I could have forgotten them.

Maybe in another world,
All soldiers come back at ease.
And out at sea the only sound
Is nature's tender breeze.
And in your head,
And in my heart,
The embers of love ignite a start.

But in this world,
And in my life,
As ashes, a husband returns to wife.
Disrupting nature's careful flow,
A blazing hate sets cities aglow.
And in this world, a sickening view,
My love is not returned by you.

Temptation follows us all
As we spin on this axis
Waiting for tilt
To turn us downward.
How does the world continue to spin
Under all this weight?

U n I r love letters—
O, tucked in bottles and
cast out @ c.