the basement is full of smoke.
i'm hiding from my mother,
clutching a half-full pack a girl gave me before i left.
you are here like vapor.
like displaced sound, a crash from behind while i watch fireworks,
unnoticed sensation,
a spider on the neck while i brush my hair.you are always here,
the smell of nail polish after the red has dried.i can hardly remember how you
really were, how i really felt - you're a strange reaction,
waking up crying and feeling calm.you were not true to me;
true to yourself but never me {or maybe i never noticed,
angry that you changed.}
your memory lives in the nape of my neck,
pained and sore,
stiff after sleeping with my head bent in shame.you are perfume,
thirty bottles, thirty people you wanted to be,
thirty scents mixing and souring in my room.my own blood before i met you,
dry rust on paper, a spell i stopped believing in
before i could finish.
the stars undid themselves when i struck a match.
the moon embraced me when i prayed, and now
i burn my fingers on lighters
and try not to cry over
cold moons.
rituals were comfort.incense smoke,
quartz in the mouth.maybe i never truly believed but
meaning is appealing, solid,
warm weight to fill uncertainty's pit.maybe you were the same.you filled me,
made me feel meaningful, needed me.
sobbed as you tried to eat me alive, i cant blame you.
we all need something -
you need to be coddled.you need a thousand mothers
taking every blow for you.
i need to be idolized, worshiped, constantly assured that i am wanted
but not needed.
we're both selfish, we're both jealous.
monsters in human skins,
using each other and killing ourselves.
green-eyed and growling.
