I asked her why she cut herself,
and she said,
"Because death has an edge
and life is pointless."
She asked that I not
write a poem
romanticizing suicide,
just a poem about
how hard it can be
to celebrate life.

I made love
to an email,
inside my
mind's
sugar shop.
I guess
our blood is
detailed;
I don't feel
until you're
shocked.

You say the things
I moan,
and I wear the things
you swear,
like, "I'd still see you,
even if you were
to disappear."

You kiss me before
I tell you that you're
silver-spoon-
melted-heart,
reassuring me
that you're ****** up,
and to just push
to watch you
fall apart.

We shake
because it's what
we forgive the most.
So, let's bite our tongues
and float north.

You stay
a stray, angel-whisper
in all my blackened
afternoons. I know
where your dead
laughter hides. I
know we love suicide
more than ourselves.
But we can still do
something for each
other, can’t we? If
I go without telling
you first, I’m
sorry, darling. I wanted
to. There’s a bitterness
to the in-between of my
legs. There’s a name
now for the thing under
our bed.

My darling,
upon the mountain's caress.
My ******-friendly mess
in a pineapple dress.
I couldn't love less
or less of you.

Young explorer,
drifting from world to world.
A huckleberry eye
that shifts from trembling duress,
with my hands onto her back.
Why can't life cut you any slack?
The chair is going out under
as the skies are mumbling thunder.
My violin underneath the sin,
sounding from within
"...I love you."

Broken water
bounce from cheek to chest.
Your breathing sounds the best.
With my words onto your lips,
and how the saliva drowns and drips.
I grip around your hips,
with the world releasing a boulder,
that drops upon your shoulder,
and I shake you senselessly,
why can't god set you free?
I can feel from you to me.

Blood, down, to ever and let go,
with your body in the snow.
My river-drowned girl,
engulfed by the swirl.
Love, oh no, from year to year.
Your words so everclear,
"I love you, too."

Silver-shiner,
moon-kissed and ever so,
your feet on the bathroom floor,
the kills from the handled snore.
What I wouldn't give to drink
from your fountain.
What I wouldn't give to die
on your mountain.
My darling, from colored-t.v.,
with a kiss and a motel fee,
I could know what the known couldn't,
with my fingertips where they shouldn't.
Turn down the volume and say
that you'll stay another day
or three.

The snow settles on rooftops
The quiet of the town echoing
And thundering
In the confines of these walls
Nothing but the pitter patter
Of rain and hail on windows
Trying to break through
And be bullets to my skin
The clouds are like shadows to me
My every movement, followed
And you are the rain
A torrential downpour on my shoulders
No rest and no sleep and no luxuries
Only the rain and the clouds and you
You are January 3rd
When it snowed and snowed
Until the cold was a second skin
Trying to rip through the walls
Of my love and my heart
And the fire is dying
And our love is dying
And the rain pours on and on

there's something to be said about love
and how it can make you feel like
you're flying
or
burning alive.

She kissed me
not because
she wanted to
but because
she could.

We fell in
love.
Not because
we could
but because
we wanted to.

We made
mistakes.
Not because
we wanted to
but because
we could.

We thought
we were
perfect.
Not because
we could
but because
we wanted to.

I vomited in
the bathroom
of a
Baltimore
7-11
because
sometimes
you cannot
hold it in
much
longer.

Her hands shook
as she held her
mirror
because
sometimes
your reflection
can only
tell you
so much.

My body shook.
Her body stiff.
And when
the bodies
move
the hearts
stop.

She lied some.
I drank words.
The veins
in hands
are maps
to imagined
consciousness.

Really,
it's just
a
*******
*****.

Music to
my ears.
Nervousness
between
blinks.
Noise to
my brain.

She said,
"I love you"
not because
she wanted to
but because
she could.

I said,
"I love you, too,"
not because
I could
but because
I wanted to.