kiss my spine
so intimate
your flaming breath
seeps through me
as if the years have made me porous

trace the silhouette
of my calloused fingers
and linger
on the ridges of my wrist
you shiver
I resist
the temptation of escape

rest your head against my own
so heavy with memories
the sinking weight
of stories never told

I taste your breath
I taste your empathy
I taste the words
you never said

One question is almost always answered dishonestly. And most times with the dishonest answer, “I’m just tired.” But we aren’t. Not in the way we want it to sound to the person asking us if we’re okay, and we even lie with that a little to ourselves because it could be true- we are tired- but not from lack of sleep, rather and more truly from lack of belonging. A lack of enthusiasm for people, a lack of togetherness, a lack of luster for the world that we find ourselves in. We are stuck in a paradox of our own making, sometimes we feel so empty and disconnected from the world that when we feel that way we lie- furthering our own disconnect. Perhaps, if by some great grunt of force we were able to lift the weight of fear that is is our perceived weakness off of our backs maybe our voices would be less strained and more apt to answer honestly about the disconnect we feel rather than perpetuate its existence in a lie. We are the hands that feed our own loneliness and we bite ourselves time and time again because we can’t admit there is a problem. We can't be seen as weak. We condition ourselves to believe loneliness is a disease and it can be spread with a single sneeze that could lead to the death of our strong egos. So we use lies like tissues and cover up the fact that we feel alone forever fearful that someone else will catch it and reflect to us our own emptiness. Why condemn weakness and the feeling of emptiness to the fate of a negative connotation? Cry in public. See how many strangers comfort you. See how human this feeling is. Embrace it. Answer that person honestly. Hug someone who is sick from loneliness and catch their illness and let that be a bond that in itself cures the disease.

I wanted you to hit me, baby.
I wanted to fall to the floor and
                   think, numb, that this
                                     wasn't how
          it was meant to be.
I wanted to hear your skin
                   on mine,
         one more time
                                 before we die.
      I wanted to think that
you were a mistake, that
             I could have done so much
                                         better
                                              but you know
                                      and we both know
that's a **** lie.

      I had a list of platitudes
ready for the day that you
                     gave in, and I could
                               finally let go.
            Ours is a ferocious tenderness,
                        one that relies on
     your (brute) force
            and my twisted dreams
                                    of reddened skin
and bloodied knuckles.
        I wanted you to hit me, baby.
    See, I'd already forgiven you
but there's nothing between us
              save our lips
              save our bodies pressed
                         flush, one encompassing
                    the other,
              save the ice in your eyes
                                 and the typhoon in my
                        chest
                               that I think might be
                                              my heart.

              Save his soul, o my God.
        Bring him home and I
                            shall follow,
           with iron in my lungs (how do I
                     breathe
                                       alone?)
                and steel in my throat.

****, I wanted you to hit me.

You are like a lightbulb
the kind that burns out slowly
bright white light that fills the room
daily yellowing
the dust in the air becomes more visible
as the words on the page darken
even my own hands change in your glow
and you begin to fade
flickering now and then
reminding me you still exist
and you are still trying to stay here
but I know you won’t last long
as you pulse from dark to darker
sometimes you do not shine at all
and I fear you have truly gone
but you manage a subtle gleam
and I sit under your warmth, waiting
for the day your filament burns away
and the connection can no longer be made
the spark is no longer enough
and I will remove you from where I once hung you
above my head, above my hands, placed among stars
but I will not throw you out
for you once lit my room
you showed me the brilliance of color
that had always existed around me, but I could not see
and you allowed me to see myself
in reflection
so I will keep you
wrapped in silk and cotton, in a box lined with velvet
in the back of the bottom drawer
hidden in the empty space there
where my heart once was.

I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.

I miss how much I cared about the future
Concerned about how the world saw me
And how I saw myself
But lately I'll admit that I've grown too numb
To care about the person others see when they look at me

I miss how things were,
When I thought I knew what was next
When I thought tomorrow was guaranteed
And could tell myself that things will only get better
Without blatantly lying through my teeth

I miss your laughter, still echoing in my halls
But its too late to say that I wanted you to stay
Here I am, wishing time to turn back
So I could tell myself to hold on just a little longer
So I can stop being filled with so much regret