When I walked to the restroom
The way he smiled at me
Tore my soul to shreds

Maybe your tongue could be my own
Maybe your teeth are the mirror I’ve been fearing this whole time
Maybe your mouth is where I want to hide forever
Or maybe I want to be trapped within your mind

Maybe I want to see you from the inside
Not hearing what you have to say
But really see you from the inside
In a Jonah sort of way

Maybe I want mine to be your body
Incessant movement where one cannot tell
Where you begin and where I end

Maybe I don’t want it to ever end
Maybe it scares me if it never ends
Will it never end? Or more importantly, will it even start?

If you think of a life with me, picture me with soap in my hair, bubbles lining the strands of my wet-with-sweat frizz.

Picture the tomato-sauce-stained plates with bits of pasta, scattered by the sink like the continents of the world when it should be just Pangea, one place, all neat.

Picture me holding the sponge, scrubbing the red out of the white plates we ate from.

I'll picture your arms wrapped around me, head resting on my shoulder, murmuring behind me that I smelled like sweat.

Picture me smiling at the honesty and then listen to me complain to you that we should get this done. WE.

I'll picture you rinsing after I told you to and I'll hear your whining about your tired arms and how you're impatient about feeling my lips on yours.

And then we hurry, we wash the dishes together and there is soap in my hair.

We wash our hands which go to each other's waist and then we pull closer and then your hand is on my face and the taste of your mouth is on my tongue.

And then we stop. We stare.

Picture that, PinkInk.

I don't want no more
cherry
              light.
I don't want no more
green
            in - ferno.
Once upon a time I
held dreams as close
as I went on
to hold smoke
in my lungs --

   I don't want no more.

Yes: maybe Davey is right.
Which edge is the knife's edge and
which edge is. . .

Which edge is which?

Yes: maybe my Davey is right.
Complacency kills
the best of all intention.

My sleep's been in detention.
Maybe taking the easy downer. . .
Maybe taking
the easy upper. . .

I'll      take      back

      my dreams.

this feeling that thrives
neither dead nor alive
is not something
to be taken lightly,

a cardinal sin
with no near end
begins, and there is
mostly
ruin left

for you and yours.
this feeling is different,
mostly if you let it,
like scraping down
the side of an
aluminum can

that's skyrocketing
towards some other
dimensional

depth, neither
approachable
nor
within the realm
of touch.

Maybe you will wake up one day and feel this way too
Maybe you won't
Maybe you will wake up one day and think about my smile first thing
Maybe you won't
Maybe you will wake up one day and all you will hear is my laugh on repeat
Maybe you won't
Maybe you will wake up one day and think about how you wish it was me
But you probably won't

I liked that night, we were flying
As the black cloaked your stars, you had your eyes closed
Sleep-deprived and half dead I thought of loving you
It seemed foolish

On the ground, it felt dizzy
like you spun me around
Friendly smiles were small
Everything was so dead I didn’t think of you

I don’t know the day where I thought of it as more
It wasn’t a day but a memory, a rememory
The buttons were pushed before I was ready

Anxiously I worked and worked and acted like your honey didn’t matter to me
It didn’t, I convince myself even now
But the moment came in capitals
You thought I was unattainable

The breaks were pressed by those closest
Of course they were, it’s what they’re there for
I waited and waited and waited and I got tiny answers

I got fragments, particles, portions
I never got it all
I still don’t have it all
Is this you
Is this my body?
Worse, is it my mind

Tell me now, if I ask too much
Tell me now, if communication won’t be our thing
Tell me now If we won’t be our own thing
But just tell me
Tell me anything
Because I need to be told

We are the teens who jump to conclusions who smash beer in the street, walk fast and try to soothe ourselves with ***** water

We are the teens who cry for a song feeling alone but surrounded by people
Who replace hurt with *** and hide our pain by waiting until maybe finally something good happens

We are the teens who go home every day and miss everyone who made our life worth living

We are the loud *** teens who smoke and drink and get 100s on tests and love themselves and are happy about it

We are the teens who get gelato and are homies with our host families and jump in with our clothes on

We are the teens who look at the waves and the height and think the wind blowing is beautiful

We are the teens who overuse the word love because we lack it in our lives

We are the teens who have to give it to each other because maybe not everyone loves us the way we want them to

Maybe that’s why we don’t love the people who want us to