I sent it
At three AM
On one of those nights
Where silence gets violent
And I'm alone in my head.

I told you about the
Tiny pink pills
And how
If I took eight
I would sleep forever.
I gushed that
They were hidden
Under the toothpaste slathered
Countertop
In my bathroom.

I told you I loved you
But that
You weren't enough to stop me anymore.

I did actually consider it.
It was one of those nights.
But at some point,
As I laid on top of my comforter
And shivered under the fan,
I realized that
You weren't going to wake up
And convince me out of it.

I also thought
About how my mom was
A light sleeper.
How the floorboards would sound like
Orchestras
And the cabinet
Would be the symbals
To her.

I fell asleep
Numb,
But naturally numb,
And woke up wondering
What you would say.

You didn't say anything.

I'm sorry
That I text you
At four a.m.
When
I
Can't
Breathe
Because of
Anxiety attacks.

I'm sorry that
I can't make serious phone calls
Or order at Subway
Around the corner,
Even though I know
I like thinly sliced turkey
And chipotle dressing.

I'm sorry that
I forget things like
Birthdays and middle names
And I'm sorry
That I don't know how to
Kiss.

I'm sorry
That you think
When I don't take a compliment
I'm fishing for you
To keep going,
Because in my rotting skull
That option
Isn't even possible.

I'm sorry.
So sorry.
That if you're
Nice to me
I will never
Ever
Believe you
Actually like me.

I'm awake,
but not quite
Bewitching hour again
Crowded at the ends
nothing in between
Void inside
Dark in my eyes
Sweat chills my skin
Still Trembling still
Awake, I began to ponder
seek the witch and her master
Flick the light switch on
Reach for my dog sleeping at my feet
Turn to touch the snoring woman beside me
Look around again
I am the witch and devil's master
I see
I recognize
But never learn
To sleep or to wake
Such is my self ordered fate
Up again at 4:08

I can feel the sinews
of my arm. What would,
if eaten, be considered
gristle.
I like to imagine
my liver.
Large ****** bulk.

I often forget
I am made of parts.
Gooey mechanisms
slick sections
upon dissection
hunks of tissue.

I find solace
in the realisation
that I
and you
and We
are meat.

Envy the dogs.

Avarice and hate
and excess fear
are symptoms of
an enlarged brain.

Envy the dogs.

I’ve never seen his skin,
But I’ve traced the curve of his ribs
Drawing star maps on his anatomy
I’ve witnessed the blade of his hip
Scratched his spine
And run fingertips across his collar

And last night I couldn’t sleep
Watching a set of fragile wings smaller than my pinkie nail
Circle the glow of my lamp, transfixed
After bobbing in and out of the lampshade,
It sputtered and fell onto my bedside table
Moths never know light is lethal