Slick with self preservation,
I moisturize away the blemishes.
Night masks alone in the apartment.
Mane too long they dampen
Dark lines on dark skin, strands
stick to me blacker than kajal.
I’ll shower in the morning.
Grabbing at the extra, cupping
Slapping and ******* it in.
I’m so much when i think
I’m not enough.
Wrapping it in lace,
hug where it goes in
Abnormal hourglass,
I turn around to examine
The lightning storm around my
thunder thighs too thick to gap,
Just a small wineglass
Under a coarse tangle.
“Need to workout again.”
Dimples press and flatten,
Tattoos jiggle and beckon.
The hairs on my legs are fine
stand straight in the cold
My feet are sort of dry,
I dip them in cream
And slip on soft socks I could
Never wear in sleep,
I think of a silly dream
where I’m blonde and very thin
Like the best friend
Of every man I’ve ever been with
The one they crush(ed)
on only just a little-
but that was a long time ago.
Such a funny pattern,
Such a common trend.
I wonder if I’m meant to
bring myself to that.
But to change so quickly-
I’d rather be fat,
dark and dead.

My mind won’t shut up.
Count the breaths and listens to sleepcasts
like it should.
Am I bored with being happy?
I clung to creativity as the lifeline in my desperate years
and now it sits in the corner of my room
as one of the many things that spark joy
but isn’t instantly gratifying.
Dissociating is the only push I feel to write,
So I guess I haven’t been quite out of sorts
for a bit.
I have to be up in 5 hours.
I should sleep.
I feel my heart unbonding from the things that keep me.
I don’t see the damage quite yet.
I broke the empty Pyrex bowl that held my lunch earlier.
Right before I got on the train.
Right inside my cloth lunch bag.
I was embarrassed. And i smelt of chilli.
So i tossed the whole thing in the trash-
im heading for the hills.
I’m running.
I can’t be that invested in anything and i know it.
Wide awake and it’s almost midnight.
I don’t want to be the reason I slid right
Back down that shity spiral.
In the shape of sadness.
In the shape of discontentment.
Why is disco in that word?
Go to sleep now.

Soft sounds of trucks in the distance, driving over bridges,
Wind hitting windows.
The cold sits with me and rubs my arms,
kisses my fingers
reminds me my ******* are mini heaters.
The glow of my face in the black mirror.
Light shapes dance on my ceiling,
I’m tapping away, numb from feeling.
My hands have long lost sensation,
I just hear the patter of my thumbs.
I don’t know why I don’t want to say anything.
I don’t know why I’m counting my breath.
I’m content with this temperament.
I’ve been way up above lately.
I forgot what it’s like to be present and satiated with nothing.

They’re supposed to keep you warm, while you hold things when it’s brick out.
But mine never fit right.
Sliding about but if they’re tight they’re too thin,
If they’re thick I can’t type with them.
When something fits like one, it’s supposed to be perfect. Sleek- form fitting,
Perfect match.
That hasn’t quite happened yet for me.

I should just hide my hands in my pockets.
I need to feel things, anyway.
I always lose them, anyway.
I sure know how to choose them,
Heat-tech and fingerless, mittens
and insulated.
What’s a middle ground?
Dirt is healthy, anyway.
I rather just see the ghosts, anyway.

I stare at a glowing window while I hear
the street sweepers chiming down the street
for the week night I've lost count of.
Body warmth and sleep cuddles aren't around,
to help me want to close my eyes tonight.
It's 3 AM on Monday and my lover's in his own
waking in a few hours to the glow
and I still don't want to wink.
Fixated on past experiences.
This is just never the time to be
appreciating everything, is it?
Too late to get anything good down,
Too early write anything off.

RGB colors mind scramble on your ceiling,
like in our closest amusement park.
Playing underneath it, unicorns and feelings,
making flesh shapes in the dark of your room.
Bioluminescent in its black sea,
I can't swim good but I ride the waves you send me.
You can't read but you're rather well read to me.
Promises wont break, but please bend me
over and over again.
When did I become this sober again?
You get me wanting
to remodel the homes that belong to lonely songs
only so that they can fit a king bed,
extra cool on my side because you're a furnace
that I huddle into and cherish earnestly.
You let me ramble run-ons and babble
or be still and mute, be it
swimming in space or silently disputing
but I can never stay quiet too long.
I can't ever hide whats wrong to you.
Or what's right, so I write to remind you
how beloved this is, unparalleled to whats behind
and how eager I am for what's ahead.