The door,
the same old door
open and unlocked,
you sit on the couch,
the one you slept on for
six years.

In the flames tonight,
the smell of burning will be back
but this time,
it is welcome.

The cabinets,
the dishes,
they are all broken
and I am standing on shards of porcelain
piercing my feet,

in fear of more pain,
we stay where we are

you, on the couch
and me, on the plates.

welcome home.

I wanna marry a man who isn’t really
a man, but the illusion of one,
he’s actually just a cut out,
and I want to write his name in my
blood on the church so that God
knows
that I am okay alone.

And I’m tired of checking up
on how you’re doing,
because you probably don’t think of
me.

We sit on the fire escape at dawn,
my cardboard husband and I,
and we smoke cigarettes
and he burns a little
because paper is flammable.

When the sun comes up,
I feel you.
Landslide, land mine, landline, and
the burns on my tongue.

Bitter coffee and it’s not so bitter
compared to the taste of the spiders
crawling from my mouth,
and when I think of you


...You probably don’t think of me.

I’d write your name on the church,
but I don’t have enough blood for
two names.

There is a screaming silence on the
privatized public transportation of
Cleveland. A scream in the hearts and minds
of a people who live with less than zero.
Car fires in the streets.
Syringes next to the suburbs.
Nowhere is holy in this great city,
a veritable Gomorrah.
It's not a jungle,
it's a prison and a **** shame.
Ohio is for abandonment;
musicians, writers, astronauts,
pilots.
All desperate to leave a crater
where they used to stand,
to blast
a hole in the heart of this state.
A hole it already has.
They make it less than zero.
Plastering Chief Wahoo against
their foreheads, houses, cars,
lawns, chests, arms, bars, streets.
Saying it's not racism,
it's tradition.
Meanwhile, everyone else is
trying to explain that just because
it's old doesn't mean it isn't racist
to the idiots of Cleveland.
Cleveland is a city made of
stains, tarnish, rust and apathy.
Erecting a chandelier
instead of a dream,
a monument to desperation.
There is a scream in the back of the throat.

~You were the first one to ever peak my curiosity. You had mood swings like day and night, you pulled at the threads in my flesh trying to search for what you could find underneath. We never got close enough that I could call you my girlfriend but I could feel what it was like. You were always talking about this boy, I had my first taste of jealousy because he would never love you like I could. I got tired of the cycle. Waiting for my turn. So I took from you what I could get and left you wishing you had loved what you had.

~You were so beautiful the way you had the ability to spot me in a crowded room. No matter the temperature your skin was always cold. You were always so cold. You spoke of how the stars here could never compare to the ones in Ohio. I didn't hesitate when you asked to be mine or when you asked if you could explore my every curve. You told me if I reached a certain weight you'd leave me so my fingers got to know the back of my throat in a disgustingly familiar way. I cried for three nights after you left, I was pathetically in lust with you. Months later you came to appreciate the way my hips rocked against yours and begged for my return. You are trash.

~You kissed me at the bottom of the stairs briefly. I could tell you didn't kiss often but I said yes anyway.  I remember being startled when I woke up at a friends house, my hair a filthy mess and you were sitting there watching me. I could barely have a conversation with you so I always kissed you to cover the involuntary silence. You were the nicest boy I'd ever met but I never loved you.

~We we're practically married the way we fought and ****** for three years. I gave you everything I had in summer on a blanket spread over the lush grass. I wrote novels in your pretty little heart and poured out my every struggle. I loved you from the hairs that stood on the back of my neck to the way I curled my toes..but then you changed. You said you were growing up and learning responsibility. But really you sat blankly in your room counting birds of death and you watched me struggle for breath, for life. I tried to get my love back but you'd buried him deep somewhere. I imagine he's laying beautifully in a bed of flowers and butterflies land on his lips trying to give him breath, although they are to minuscule to succeed. You've become a disgusting person. I do not love you.

~During a time that I sat waiting for death I found myself in August during September. You were the most beautiful boy I'd ever laid eyes on, I never imagined lips like yours touching mine. I've come to realize that you are the flowers, you are the butterflies and the sunshine. You are all of the bright magnificent things that you think you're not and you are mine. I fell for you involuntarily, but I would never turn back if I could. I've never had a best friend and a lover amalgamated.  I've never been so certain that love can exist in the darkest of beings. I've never tasted forever in someones kiss. Dear present love do not deceive me.

Ohio valley in the sun,
We are the broken ones.
Rays of fools gold
Crease your hills
Of walking regrets
And stagnant thrills.
Oh you—Ohio valley in the sun.
Highways to nowhere
Run through your land
Of imprisoned visionaries
And the dreaming man
Oh you—Ohio Valley in the sun
What did we do to deserve this numb?
Oh you—Ohio valley in the sun.

It's not you, It's me.
No - you know what, it IS you.

You can't keep coming around like this.
It was okay at first, but we had our fun,
had a couple snowball fights, and hot coco nights
but you and I both know it's run it's course.
We're over.
In fact, honestly, you overstayed your welcome this time.

What do I mean?
I mean, you're cold, you're bitter, your relentless and pushy.
I couldn't take it anymore.
And when you coming back like this every other week, honestly,
It makes me consider moving.
You're like a stalker.

Oh her? Yeah, that's my new season.
She's nice, warm, and beautiful.
But she's shy,
she's not going to come back out until you leave.
So, you should go.

Look maybe we can try this again
In a year or so - maybe.
Just give me some time.

I don't miss you yet.