When it finds me
you'll find me
up there
on the roof.

Truth is,
I don't like the truth
it hurts too much.

Nothing good ever comes in
the daylight when the sun's
refusing to shine,

me and mine
mine and me
let kingdom come
and I'll still be
on the roof
that's the truth.

Truth is
It catches
scratches deep within
makes the scars
marks the skin
and
when devils dance
I get roped in
making more scars
marking more skin,

when it finds me which
it surely will
I'll be on the roof
until
I'm not.

you scratched our initials
into the surface
of the polished wooden table
behind Redlight Redlight
with the key to my heart.

P + S.

a brief message
etched in time
for all to see.
you grinned up at me
when you'd finished,
ombré fluttering slightly
in the evening breeze,
and said, unabashedly,
"it was the first thing
that popped into to my head."

P.S.

sometimes, i still think
of how your hands clung insistently
to my windbreaker when we sat
on the pier, how our bodies
synced in quiet harmony.

We're only tourists
here for a visit
on a one way ticket
and now they're
punching it

it's not ******* fair.

I never asked for short stay
I wanted long term.

Visa expired
as I will be
soon
but we're all only tourists
here for a day.

My nights are filled with nothing. No regrets, no mistakes, no happiness, or nostalgia, they are simply void. There are no sheep on my ceiling, so instead I count the boys I have passed time with. I meditate on their finger prints engraved in my mind- as if any of them had ever actually touched it. I follow their individual swirls to centres, to lips, and my own fingers comforting them, easing them, helping them forget. This is to the boys who I can remember, who I can separate from gropes and short dances. The boys who met my mouth with their eyes closed. I wonder if they think about the times? The encounters? Do they fluff our moments into their pillows, make room for our memories in their beds at night? Do they swallow instances like painkillers or stomp them out like cigarette butts? Do they even remember? Kissing me in the dark, squeezing their lust into my body in the morning frost? Rested heads against shoulders and wrapped arms around necks and waists? Does he remember my lips crashing against his after pulling off my shirt? Does he remember sifting through my chest like he was searching for my heart? Does he remember car headlights, streetlights, houselights, my lights- my eyes. Does he remember breaking me, remember filling my gaps, remember numbing me with his needle fingers, and does he remember warming me to another life? Do they think, do they realize their words and their touches were the air in my balloon? But there are a lot of hims, just as I'm sure there is a million mes but do they recall, do they think about me? To the boys I have lent myself to, thank you. When insomnia kisses me I know it is empty, I know I am empty, and we are just helping each other survive another nothing night.

chalk outline
seperation Of cigarette ashes

wet tar, broken glass.
wine stained wedding dress
Playing paper towel commercial
Soaks up all the rosey in her cheeks

When the thud was heard for miles
She didn't **** herself.
Simply tossed her dress
out the hotel window.
at a crime scene

It was some other *******
Who covered it with caution tape.