take me east, in your mothers car. well wake up early and brush our hair, make ourselves look pretty and then  go to texas to see 3 person caskets and 19th century hearse carriges and glass coffins, well get jobs and pay for it all, the tickets, the hostel. itll be barely summer and well be dripping down the sewer drains, bones and all.

take my body south, to the desert. put my body in my parents living room, brush my bodys hair, make me look pretty (my white dress). my parents will pay for it all, the cemetary, the flowers. wrap my body in a shroud and toss me into the dry dirt, it will barely be summer and ill be back in the ground, bones and all.

seeing you is different. its

cold, impersonal. my skin feels the way it feels when i leave my fort in the morning, skin stung with unfamiliar air. i dont go out by choice anymore. i want to be the girl in the pictures, eyelashes fluttering and bangs caught in the artificial wind, glowing. he said i look like her but i just dont see it, im stringy, detached, like a third grade picasso. no one can hold that, can kiss that, can care for that. your eyes on mine feel calculated and i dont know what to say anymore. neither do you. what happened?

oú est-ce que je peux aller? quand je meurs, quand je suis dans le sol finallement, est-ce que ma amê est meurt aussi? protèges-la, stp. je ne veux pas aller le ciel, je veux etre dans le sol. je attendre pour le sol tous ma vie.

i had a dream last night, ive been remembering them again, ever since the woods. i couldnt feel my leg anymore, i couldnt feel it like i said would happen and i cried and cried and cried (i slept till 1pm) was i always this disconnected? did i always zone out in cold baths, tracing checkerboard tiles over  and over again? did i always want to die like this? i shouldnt have helped myself. i shouldve given up 2 summers ago, when i could still have been peaceful, when they could still put me in some metal casket with nothing in my veins or chest cavity, when they would have tied my mouth shut with one of those bread ties in my gums

i saw her Eyes from the across the concrete field, not blue like an ocean but blue like my porch steps after it rains, blue like the bathmat i See as i watch it from above water, swirling and spinning under clear film, blue like the dorothy dress i Saw in the church when i was small, blue like my skin when i am dead and blue like my veins when life is brought unto me again. blue like the glow from my house's edwardian windows when i Look at them at sunset, blue like the wind and the goddess and the dew; she Looked back