i go back sometimes
to when you were love to me,
the first introduction i'd ever have to intimacy.

i go back
to two months ago,
when we held hands for the last time,
denial of what would happen the minute we walked outside.

we let love control us,
we let lust contort us,
we let ourselves become dependent on a relationship with an expiration date.

i go back
to two days ago,
when you told me we couldn't be friends.
i remember intermittently,
the warmth that i felt.

A vine ridden house.
Just like my life.
The darkness has entangled me.
I swear to god I will never learn.
Because i keep making the same mistakes.
Forget it.
My biggest flaw was that I cared too much.
About everyone and everything besides myself.
Fck these vines!
Im breaking free.
Fck these lines!
Im letting go.
Im burning up.
Melting snow.
That flurried in my globe.
Shattered glass.
Im breaking free.
F*ck my past.
Im finding me.

Trying to look back
Among my days with you,
Thinking those sweet moments,
That's all I can do.

Pain is still inside
And would not heal for some time.
And when that day comes,
Everything would be fine.

I won't feel sorry
For myself anymore
Won't wait for you to walk again
through my door.
Disregard you in my dreams,
Walking by the shore.

Tears running down from my eyes
Will soon stop dripping
Would vanish and once again
You'll see me smiling.

No more tears will be shed
And solitary nights to be spent.
But, you will always be my angel
Whom God had sent.

I don't know where I left myself.
It's a blur,
from you to me.
Between tequila shots and
lines of whatever.
Increasingly less noticeable,
indistinct
Killing myself
trying to **** you.
And now only you remain

I drown all my wounds
with a bottle of alcohol
to make them numb,
I put a gun against my forehead,
where you used to kiss me.
As I choke on my tears,
I pulled the trigger.
You were gone.

Today, the Earth fell in reverse.

I watched a Western backwards, the blood seeping into the Vaquero's chest, his eyes roll forward, his challenger gripping his bleeding arm, the red spot on his jacket shrinking, putting his gun back into the holster. He climbed onto his anxious horse and rode backwards into the sunset, his intact body being washed over with shades of pink and orange.

I watched you trip in reverse, staring at nothing until you popped the shrooms out of your mouth, counted them and then shoved them back into your sweatshirt pocket. I listened to our phone call in reverse. I cried at first, you said something, shameful, then I reeled back, asked you what's the worst you've done, and you said you were okay. Ringing. Silence.

I watched myself in reverse. Laughing, looking at people I love, and all their wonderful dark circle shadowed eyes, messy hair, and dried tears. I watched myself stare at them from a distance, then I felt myself forget their names. I liked your tattoos and I liked your long blonde hair. I forgot about both of those things. I sat alone in my room, I cried, I took back everything I said. I shook off the sadness. I laughed again, fell into your [sober] arms, ran my fingers through your uncut hair. I forgot what your mothers name was, I forgot your favorite color, I forgot your bedtime. I forgot your name. I forgot I loved you.

I wanted to **** myself in reverse. I wanted to watch the bullet whip out of my skull, the bone fit together like puzzle pieces. The worm hole in my brain fills, my blood flows backwards.

My innocence is unfucked to me. My lips curl up. I am happy, I am smiling. My boyfriend takes his unscarred arms and wraps them around my waist. I watch his eyes frown upside down, he tells me he loves me.

I hit fast forward.

I. You wrote no manuscripts but somehow, whenever I move to inch myself over the sofa, I can feel your soft blow indent me over the edge of this quiet. The quiet disquiets the quiet – is something you would have said over *******, over lamenting the death of a lamppost outside, over wanting to be stranded underneath the awning of a dilapidated canopy of trees outside. Over the slowdance and the turntable, over Belle and Sebastian.

II. I left the faucet running just in case you were to be awakened by a myoclonic ****. It helps to hear the sound of water gushing as it protrudes calmness. I would have intruded you, but your absence first lifted into the vacuity of rooms unspoken of. I inspected the impressions left on the bed and left the tousled sheets as they were. Questions discerned. Answers disarmed. Somewhere between inquiry and certainty, there is a body hauled right out of the alarming bedazzlement. We were both gutting each other as the light from the television spilled right onto our naked bodies, stuck in a fucklock. And then I got up to the slain body of the morning.

III. I muse you over Wittgenstein – separated by a makeshift bookshelf. I felt a revulsion for slender straps for watches. The face you wore that day was white. Now you’re as pale as a July tapestry.

IV. I bought new venetian blinds today.

V. Somewhere along the steep ***** I heard the machination of an arrival. The dogs were randy outside. It must be you, approaching. I fingered the slats to reveal a little source of Sun. It was the daily paper. I have forgotten all arrivals are the same.

VI. If I were to blueprint this house with my sentiments – we would be sleeping apart. Your bed, of cold metal. Mine, of sandalwood. Erasures last longer than revisions. I know your presence as the familiar clangor of the same instruments you use for preparations are the same ones fondled. Right after the investigation, your immaculate neglect transfers itself into a sly translation of perfume from a day’s work, winnowing my faculties.

VII. I made a blueprint of this house with my sentiments – you somewhere in the outskirts of town, I deep within the suburban. I have a question for balconies I do not want to answer. At what height should be a balcony situated? What if the scrumptious fall is but elevation?  Will the intensity of the Sun pulverize the very fixated shadow on the corner of my parched shoulder? If not, should I take the balcony down?

I wanted to revise the blueprint, but no. Erasures last longer than revision – I dream of cities expunged
when the day ends.