Spinning like a ghost

on the bottom of a

top,

I'm haunted by all

the space that I

will live without

you.

i would like to cover my face with flowers so i am masked with something pleasant
we sleep with pillows between our legs because it mimics the feeling of you (i hope)

you are a touch i have never felt

if i was a flower i would be gifted with every touch

a short beautiful life that gets to crumble away when ready

i know the bites on your neck were wrong i was told not to leave traces of my Self
because i do not belong

sorry for screaming your name
(but i guess it was worth it)
when you choked me and said quiet down

the stain on my ******* looks like the ****** mary
(i think she's mad at me) because i begged you to **** me  
sideways and backwards
digging screaming sweating pounding sighing
the ****** mary is crawling out of my ***** trying to make me
pure

you are the closest tangible thing and you don't even exist

i see the way they look at the Rest Of You
versus the way they look at me, or Us,
the league of Others
with scaling peeling skin and
sweating glands
red bumps and scars and
curves in all the Wrong places
stretch marks expose me I Am A Tree that has been cut open
every line marks an experience like a ring on wood
I sip my beer and mimic plump lips on a **** locking eyes with yours but you look away because I take up too much space and
I am too visible for you to handle

your hands pressed into my jello sides when you lifted up my skirt and slid yourself into me
i looked into the ****** mary your mama planted in your backyard
into her crumbling marble eyes i prayed that one day i would be a beautiful girl
enough to be touched in the sunlight, feeling your flesh
understanding that your eyes want as much as your blood
enough to feel your teeth digging into my skin
leaving a mark that You Are Here
not just ****** in the poisonberry bush at 2am next to mama's ****** mary
so high that i feel her more than you

some eyes stare at the tv in that certain way when they're ****** that they look like serial killers
eyes bulging with no feeling as if  they just stabbed their lover fifty times because
they are disinterested
i can't help but imagine everyone as stereotypical 35-year-old adults
if i am creating their future selves
does that make me psychic

anxious bugs attack with ice picks to the back of my head and go
crawling into the labyrinth
do not let them dig into the Very Bad Thoughts in the back of your head

the reason i watch so much tv at night is to stifle the racing

(just drift)