Me?
I eat embers of sunshine for breakfast
and wash them down with rain clouds.

Faltering declarations of love
Floating like incense on our fingers
Like slime on moribund monuments
Like filth lingering on the dead
Like wasps on an infected wound
Like babies of bats
Kissing your gangrenous feet
Like hollowness of two hearts
Enclosed in a horrid infinity
Like lungs filled with black water
Like bones intertwined with each other
In a discomfort so immense
Like a cat choking on her mother's milk
Like a scar that heals and still exists
On our bodies like a curse
Like an air balloon that bursts in our chests
But doesn't **** us
And still the pain of our dying love
Is greater than all the ghastly metaphors
And we know we can't save it
So we have to let go of the dead fishes
We have to let go of the dead wishes

I want to want someone. I can’t remember the last time *** wasn’t casual. But after two nights ago, I have hope for the future. He’s instilled hope once more, the hope of making love.

I once had *** with a thirty-three year old man in a storage unit.
I once had *** without kissing at all.
I once had *** with a man who I loved who never called me again.
I once had *** with a boy just in spite of his older brother, who I loved.
I once had *** just to have ***.
I once had *** just to have *** with a ******.
I once had *** just to see how big his **** was.
I once had *** because I wanted to have *** with a black man.
I once had *** only because it was New Year’s Eve.
I once had *** because I wanted to get back at my boyfriend for cheating on me.
I once had *** because I was drunk.
I once had *** because I wanted to have a ******* with two guys.
I once had *** because I wanted to have *** with a girl. We were both fourteen.
I once had *** because I was on the rebound.
I once had *** because I wanted to say I had *** with my brother’s best friend.
I once had *** because I wanted to be in control of having ***.
I once had *** because I’m a ****.
I once had *** because I’m sexually liberated, and I don’t give a **** about what society thinks.
I’ve had lots of ***,

But two nights ago was different. We didn’t have ***.
We didn’t even kiss. He held me. He told me he liked me, and he wanted to feel my body. It was only my back, stomach and ribs, but it was nice to feel touched without having ***. It was nice to feel **** without the ***.

I wonder if he thinks about me. He told me that he liked me in the summer, but the way he held me two nights ago I’d say he still liked me. He invited me out of the blue. I’m happy he did. He likes Alternative music. He also likes my favorite band. I snowboard, and he skis. His favorite color is orange, just like mine. We’re both tall. He’s blond; I like Aryan men. Maybe I really am a submissive woman—a complete product of society.

I wonder if he believes in God. I wonder if he’ll look down on me, because I don’t. He doesn’t mind that I don’t eat meat. He said I have a pretty voice. I wonder if he fantasizes about me. I haven’t fantasized about him before two nights ago.

There was one time over the summer when we went to a Hookah bar with friends. We smoked *** first, with a group of friends, before we left to the place in Virginia. I was pretty high, so I don’t remember most of the conversation, but I remember once when he brought up his girl friend. I took a puff of hookah, before I exhaled, and asked, “You have a girlfriend?” He replied, “Unfortunately.” I never understood this until two nights ago.
I don’t know if I want him, or someone like him.

I wonder if he’d think I was pretty without make-up.
He didn’t seem repulsed when I chopped off my long pretty hair, but I’m sure he couldn’t handle my moodiness. We’re both somewhat strange, but my impulsiveness and possible sociopathic nature deviates from the general humanistic thinkers. I don’t consider myself a hypocrite, because I honestly feel as if my feelings change more often than not.

We’re both twenty years-old.
He’s a long time relationship kind of guy; for the two years I’ve known him, he’s always had a girlfriend. There were only two, but he seemed to like them both.
I wonder if he loved either of them. Maybe he loved them both.
Did they love him? Did the resent each other?
I’ve never understood the resentment of women in regards to other women.
I’ve always been for sisterhood; I’ve always believed that men were corrupt.
Maybe that’s because I’m attracted to women.

I just feel like women should get along; they should understand women, given that they usually feel the same towards women. I feel like women hating each other is the result of a sexist society. Some women don’t even realize that they’re victims of a man’s world.
I don’t think he’s like that.
He’s not the kind of guy who manipulates.
He’s not a one-night stand.

He’s not the fairytale of “I once had *** because:”, he’s not someone I would want to forget, use, or manipulate.
I was supposed to go snowboarding with an ex-boyfriend next week.
He lives in SC, and I would’ve had to take a plane down to visit, in addition to paying for the lift tickets.
I blew him off.
Better yet, I told him that being friends was pointless.
We’re so different, and our relationship was crap. He was boring and ignorant.
The *** was boring, and occasionally I’d get off because he’d go down on me.
His ******* was the best part of our relationship.

I bet the guy from two nights ago is a great lover. He’s also tall, so he’s probably got a good-sized one.
I’d like to try it out sometime, not immediately, but maybe in a few months.
Maybe we could build a relationship.
Maybe he’s just like every other guy, and I’m just a delusional idealist who’s alone.
Who’s alone though?
Not me; I can have *** on command. I have, at the top of my head, six people who I could spend the night with (some who I’ve been with already, some not).
If I’m always in company, how can I be alone?

Could I tell the guy from two nights ago all of this? Would he run away like the others who have mattered? Or would he cling onto me like the others who didn’t matter?
Would he give me flowers? Would he think I’m a *****?
Would he view my glass of personality as half-empty or half-full?
Maybe he wouldn’t talk.
Maybe he’d just hold me like he did two nights ago and say so much without saying a word.
We’d breathe together and our heartbeats would breathe together.
Maybe he’ll dream about me.
2012 will tell.
He asked if I’d be around; I told him for nine months, I would.

she told me that this is what it was like to be a firestorm,and i believed her.youre not golden sweetheart,
none of us are.we're not meant to look nice.
this is for our eyes only.dont look me in the eyes
and pretend that you dont know what i mean
take me to the cathedral pour holy water over my shivering shaking bones
build a baby grand out of my corpse,honey,its the only one ive got.
dont pretend you dont feel it too
and even if ill never be as romantic as you,at least ill try
at least i wont leave you here
gasoline on pavement,dying the only way you know how
they told me i could be anything i wanted so i turned myself into a gun,
hollow like your stomach when all youve had to eat the past three days is stale ******* bread.
dont look at me like that.
i know all of your secrets and youre the one still forgetting about my jaw,the one you broke.
i see it in your eyes.we both know how this ends
but I wont pull the trigger on heartbreak hills
not until theres more whiskey than broomsticks beating us ******
cigarette **** wrists against a concrete wall,you always were one for a metaphor werent you?
jesus,babe you look so beautiful in this light.would you let me take your picture with the old kodak we pretend doesnt exist?
im sorry if this is forward of me,but i think id like it if you dug bruises
into my throat
loving the only way you know how,and this isnt the kind of love you see in movies
cause its not really love when neither of you can stop chainsmoking for a ******* second
to look at the way the sun glints off hair at just the right time.
maybe if i had sinners hips youd kiss me,just the way i like
too much,all at once.this,you say,
this is what its like to be a firestorm.
we tell people we're just close friends,like in the way real people are close friends,
we tell people that the bruises on both our mouths are just from the red wine,silly,isnt it obvious?
the train station is too crowded.im fidgety
and the woman in the dress sitting next to me is reading a newspaper article about string theory
i wonder if it tells her about the way i sewed my mouth shut one winter
(or maybe that was you.whatever.its the same ******* thing anyway,isnt it,you say.stop ******* smiling at me like that.you know its not funny)
i wonder if she knows that the needle does not have to be very sharp to pierce the skin.
lesson one:stop pretending that youre the dragon.
lesson two:god.god.god youre ******* annoying.cant you keep your ******* mouth shut?i told you not to tell anyone,you ******* *******.if you show up outside my house again ill **** you.
dont leave someone voicemails after they leave you for the subway station. they will not reply.
this is normal.
you called me a narcissistic ***** and i think you were right but at least i think im worth something,right?at least i havent given up on my collarbones,thrown
them away like they're ******* trash.but what i mean to say is,
at least im not like you.at least i dont have a scar on my upper lip.
stop telling me that the ******* is a ******* metaphor,
this isnt a novel and im not a vampire
and last time i checked your eyes were brown,not black.youre not a monster so stop trying to be one.
the woman sitting next to me on the airplane wont stop reciting bible verses but i dont feel any more holy than i did three hours ago.
this isnt a ******* contest.you cant compete with someone to be the most ****** up,god whats wrong with you
havent you read about cain and abel
this will end the only way it possibly can
stop hanging grave markers on walls,cant you see the marks on your fingers
this isnt a ballad for a dead man and i dont mean to be condescending
but i like the way you kiss people,ten days after the time of death
and maybe ive left you too many voicemails at three in the morning
and maybe i stained your pillowcase with whiskey and secrets
but listen up,honey,you need me more than i need you
dont lie to me,you know its true
youre lying down at the bottom of the gymnasium swimming pool
and somehow youve managed to find comfort in it
dear reader:im sorry.im sorry about the mixtapes,okay,you were never supposed to find them and-and ****,ive messed everything up.bye.see you soon,
i guess.

I love to stare at clouds
Not because of the fact that they can be
Whatever suits me
When you stare at them

My love for clouds is because they are
Such a cliche metaphoric version of me
Clouds are made up of little things
Always running from their past

But eventually they will make life hell
With words of rain they spit onto you
Strike you down with lightening
Only then do they realize what damage
And despair
They had caused the innocent
And much like me the clouds
Disappear into the thin air

i. you broke both my legs and i'm still trying to walk. you ripped concertos from the back of my throat and said,
"look how beautiful you are."

ii. you don't have a nice smile. you smile like it's hurting you, like it's tearing you apart from the inside and you choke out words like stakes digging into my back, saying,
"then again, you did seem heaven sent."

iii. you sing church hymns with your whole self, your body pulsating with the force of it. you look at me when you sing, narrow your eyes as you kiss me, singing amazing grace like it actually meant something to you.

iv. you're biblical. you kiss my fingers and hiss holy words into the spaces between them, recite verses when we go to sleep at night, whispering,
"i don't have much faith left for messiahs, but i'm pretty sure you could be one."

v. i hate you and i don't know why. actually, that's wrong. i hate you because you never really died, did you, you're still here, imprinted across every surface in my house did you know that having an eidetic memory means i will never be able to forget you?

vi. you shattered my jaw and took the remains with you, painting a mural in different shades of red, saying,
"sweetheart, this is how you look best."

vii. you told me once that vampires are just vengeful angels and i don't know if i still believe that. i don't know if i ever believed that. i don't know what you believe when you tell me,
"look at the mess you've made."

viii. i wonder how long i've been faithless, or faithful. whatever you want to call it, sweetheart, when you say,
"you could have been all this, love, and more."

i've never wanted to be something that touches the human skin casually since the day i met you and i can see the universe in clear high-definition from your gray eyes, they remind me of the moon