Plagued by a flagging heart at the very mention of Brazil,
and the poor habit of scrolling to Capricorn at any and all astrological babble.
Meaningless and heedless whether together or apart,
tyros or hedonists,
perhaps both.
A volatile amalgam any way you slice it.

My best poems are about you,
my worst thoughts too.

Hemingway once wrote, “Nobody ever lives their life all the way up but bull fighters.”
An alluring career path,
but I know bulls are color blind.
They can’t even see the red,
and that kills it for me.
Hemingway also said, “Write drunk, edit sober.”
I can drink myself into a state,
but words don’t flow as easily as gin.
I’ve taken a liking to martinis lately;
there are 13 different ways to order one.
There are a million better things I could do with my life than google how to order a martini,
but I’m no bull fighter.

yes I'm scowling
Don't ******* look at me

Enough water works might erode me
if i'm lucky
Drown my pores with salt
a depression blemish

Have you ever noticed how cathartic it is to cry in public?

I was teased into thinking it would work,
destroying you would destroy me.
SOMEONE ******* DESTROY ME
and don't leave any remnant.
The law of conservation of mass?
May my spirit haunt every ******* who ever let me down and take pity on those for whom it was reversed.

I have a chip on my shoulder?
Nah
I have a ******* IOU that will never be fulfilled,
I have a ******* lifetime I'm responsible for despite never once ******* asking for it.
I have expectations, I have regrets, I have no idea what I want.
There's nothing I want
there's no one I want
there is not one thing I want

Stanley Kunitz would have outlawed anger management,
where was he when I was dealing with my felony charges?

Dylan Thomas would have bailed me out,
"Make it your legacy, kid. Go out swinging. How was the bologna?"

Marianne Moore would have materialized before little old intoxicated, hypothermic me,
"This is mortality, this is eternity. Save yourself the trouble, hang yourself in this cell, sweetie."

Don’t listen to them when they say **** won’t ******* up.
Don’t listen to that stupid tove lo song and think it’s meant for you.
Google long term depotentiation and get back to me.
While you’re at it, bring all those memories I lost back to me too.

I can remember the time on the mountain, numerous hotel stays, your fish sheets, your bedroom, your socks, your bracelets.

I wish I could forget the time I had to call an ambulance, your parents, and mine.
I can recall the time security was called, my window banging, how my hand stung, and you promising it wasn’t when it obviously was.

I can remember the first time we said it, and maybe the last time we meant it in my backyard.
It’s almost as if you knew right then you were going to **** it all up.
I can’t imagine why else you cried so hard.

You offered me a flower
     to place behind my ear
     and keep long after drying

You offered me a drawing
     the most beautiful I've ever looked
     myself through your eyes

You offered me sustenance
     for everything I needed
     everything I craved

You offered me a solid place
     to rest my bitter, busy head
     and lay down bare

You offered yourself to me, fully
     and for once I didn't hesitate
     to take and take and take

     and give myself to you

Always chasing, never satisfied.
Avoidance, my bittersweet adversary.
Shunning opportunity and it fuels contempt
for the now and then
for you
for me
for all of them.

Remember the first time?
I do, like it was the last time.

I see us in every movie,
I read us on every page.

I felt you in a new guy once,
he was bigger, but a worse lay.

I remember you in bass and bars,
in nooks and grazed skin.

I look for you at skateboard parks,
in airports, pictures, and other men.

It's like my mind's wired around you,
and the synapses can't be pruned.
We're firing together,
and you're wrapped up in me too.

I think they say

girls' tears lower boys’ testosterone levels.

Something to do with pheromones.

How about the other way around?

I have this boy, this friend, this ex lover

who cries a lot.

*****, right?

“Boys shouldn’t cry,”

I used to tease.

But I swear that was before he started crying all the time.

Now I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him cry more

than he’s seen me.

Now I don’t think it’s weird,

I don’t judge him.

If anything,

it makes me love him more.

I wonder if they’ll find that

boys' tears make girls fall in love.

something to do with pheromones.

Wellness checks for the wicked
when left to our own devices.
Spread open for sabotage
from cracks in comprehension.
Serrated is as serrated does,
wish I could be smooth.

can't quite remember but
sure it was sweet

on holiday
not sure if you meant it

spilled over cushions
drunk in...something
sympathetic reciprocity

horizontally tangled
post climactic tachycardic
my bad

I'll accept the lonely, but not fully,
and don't ask me why -
I'm still weighing options.
Because it's deserved,
even if it's distorted.
Because there's nothing to give,
and too much to gain.
Because I'm compelled to wait,
knowing you won't.

Do I sabotage or do I mend?
I can only find the energy for one.
Because misanthropy,
because none of you can handle me.
"Take [them] somewhere else," he said.
I meant to say I wish I could,
but it came out as "*******."

Not separate entities, but a knot of limbs tangled amongst plaid sheets
Constantly touching
My leg wrapped over your waist, yours hitched over my small frame
My awkward arm that wasn’t awkward because nothing is awkward with you
Your hand always at my ear, combing my hair
Crisp kisses, delicate scratches
eyes closed, quick gasps
I shouldn’t be writing this, I should be forgetting.
But there is something special about you and I can’t help myself.

Miles apart but we meet at night,
blushing bodies,
bare and brave.
Don't stay too long,
don't leave too soon.

If you ask me why I'm not having children,
I'll cite the law of natural selection.

I'm simply not fit.

60 and swerving -
pause it there.
Throw a five,
hold my hand,
pull my hair.
Twirl me around,
I might repel.
Don't scowl,
be gentle,
be smart.
It's not semantics,
it's a worn out adage -
something about cake.
Save me a slice,
I'll eat it up.

I can already feel myself missing you after this,
this one manically distracted evening.
I could cry if I thought about it long enough.
Handing out pieces of myself like I'm going out of style -
I should have listened to Holden,
but I spilled my guts instead.
My stories don't ring true anymore like they used to,
I'd rather listen to yours.
Side by side in the trenches, the thick of it -
I'll show you mine if you show me yours,
but show me yours first
so I can show you how well I listen.
Can I have a chapter?
Can I have one more evening,
for two of a kind?

“I hope one day

somebody loves you

so much…

even if sometimes
you are growing sideways

that they do not waste their time
trying to fix you.”

Even if fixing you would make you a better grey,

maybe it isn’t fair of me to try.

Maybe i’m supposed to let you have an alcohol problem,

to treat everyone around you like ****,

to walk around with your ******* superiority complex.

Maybe I’m supposed to leave,

not fix.

Maybe I’m supposed to let you change only on your own accord

and hope that you do.

I’m known for changing the character of one in particular,

so drastically that the entire class noticed.

“You wrecked him.”

“What did you do to him?”

I left.

The brain burns 20% of your resting calories a day.
I think that's why I'm so skinny.
Back on my ******* 'cept
my ****'s always running
running running running.
The conductance rate for neurons is 90 ft/s,
that's roughly 60 mph.
I'm chasing every tangent and leaving every toll in my dust,
flying off ramps looser than the associations I'm pulling.
Pull out a map on 5% and ask you to repeat,
I'm degrading, dehydrating, can't focus, no locus.
Hop in a van to get to the next stop,
charming, alarming, floating, secured.

I wanted to run till my chest burst,

I wanted to leave everyone in my dust.

Sometimes I think I could go days without talking, or eating, or sleeping.

Sometimes I’m so clouded I’m not sure why I even bothered getting up that day.

Be an adult.

No, be a child.

Is there a difference?

**** your talent,

**** your dream.

Is there a difference?

I could spend thousands in a day and feel my happiest in months.

I could break your heart and not feel a thing.

I could call you crying and feel everything.

“I worry about you all the time.”

People have no idea how to express love.

You think I’m cold?

You think I’m withdrawn?

Maybe it’s not me,

though it probably is.

Or maybe you’re all too ******* stupid.

Misery loves company,
but not mine.
It prefers the remote,
until it needs a distraction.
Craving the wrong things at the wrong time,
but how would I know -
my watch battery's been dead for two years.
It's for aesthetics,
wardrobe enhancement -
that hasn't been updated in four years.
I still haven't unwrapped my calendar,
but I can tell by the holes,
the loose strings,
unsightly armpit stains.
Seems inevitable,
overzealous sweat glands.
Botulinum toxin might remedy,
but leave a syringe for the black box -
she could use a three to six month break.

You were doing me the favor of a lifetime,

I mean that quite literally.

If I had only known then what I know now,

if I had seen it for what it was,

and you for who you are.

“You’re not who I thought you were.”

“I know, I changed.”

Dripping with irony, so ******* ironic.

I thought you were so selfish, so cruel,

but you knew better.

If given the chance, would I know better now?

Would I learn from this?

Look at my track record.

boiling over

not for everyone
barely for me

but it's fine
none of you are for me either

except one
first in four
maybe five

lucky him
lucky me

Raging inside,
a wasted energy,
a wasted brain.
I wanted to cling,
but I drained instead.
No ink, no paper,
it's all **** anyway.
I thought sadness bred creativity,
and anger was productive,
but I only lost potential.

Positive or negative urgency,
it still goes up in flames.
Looking for a reaction,
attention,
all the same.
Testy testing
meant to fail.
Little sympathy,
plenty empty.

A near tragedy
at the hands of silk
stymied by fight,
maybe flight.
A failed departure
fastened to an exit
where drive met physics.
A heroic gut holding out
for a worthwhile loss.
One that creeps into your throat,
rips your chest,
burns your tear ducts.
A pain I’d much prefer.

It was my fault,
I saw it coming as soon as I said it.
But I felt I had to make you talk about it,
because something like that-
something so ******* bad like that
has to come out eventually.
Maybe I know that more than most,
and wanted to get it over with.
Ripping off a bandaid,
or whatever.
"Let’s go to the bathroom."
"Seriously come on let’s go to the bathroom."
"Let’s go outside."
So I grabbed you and we went
and stood under a light,
shielded by the door frame,
but I know people still saw.
And it bothers me because they probably thought they knew.
And they probably thought it was petty.
"Squeeze me as hard as you can."
Someone said that to me when I was crying at a party once.
"I just kept picturing you and Brandon driving to Phoenix."
You repeated it over and over
just as you had told me “Please be careful today,”
earlier that morning.
And I swear I’m a little ****** up,
because it was cold as ****
and that warmed me up a bit.
And then later I returned the favor
"You know I love you too."
And I swear you’ve never smiled so big.
"I know, but that’s the first time you’ve said it back."
I can’t seem
to say it again.
"Maybe one day they’ll find
that boys’ tears make girls fall in love.
Something to do with pheromones.”

I thought the juice was worth the squeeze
but it had too much pulp to even swallow.
Throwing it my face, why?
Because you thought I could handle it?
Ah, I fooled you,
but you fooled me back.
Shame on us both.

It’s the anticipation of expecting to prove everyone wrong,
****** by the realization that they were right.
The pride that I know us better than anyone,
we’re different,
we’re better,
we can move past it and be better than before,
lost in sheets that aren’t my own and highways we’ve all been on.
It’s the void between us even when our bodies are clipped like magnets.
And I’m looking down so deep for anything,
any trace of sameness.
I’m looking down from that 40 foot jump
into dark blue water lined with foam.
And you’re behind me telling me to jump,
that it’s okay,
that I’ll be fine.
There’s a rock to my left,
there’s a crack on the ceiling,
there’s this ******* tension that I can’t ******* shake.
There’s you and me sitting in restaurants and airports,
in cars and outdoors for hours.
There’s you ******* me as hard as you can,
and me inventing a ******* excuse as to why I’m bawling as you finish.
Because it’s easier to lie with you over me
than tell you I can’t feel anything anymore.

Another lap,
another lapse.

of judgment
restraint
volition.

And just like that,
a sweeping fear came raging in.
Mortality at risk again,
morality might slip again.
Fill me up,
I'm empty.
Distract me please,
I'm desperate.

Put here without permission,
but met with anger when I want to leave.'

Everyone's offended that it's not for me,
as if that says more about them than it does me.

Yet somehow I'm the selfish one,
the weak one, the dysregulated **** up.

If I could go back maybe I'd choose less stress,
something that made the other ******* seem less.

All I know is I can't stand to be here as is,
it's hard for me to get much done or feel much, that is.

Sure, occasional moments where I feel fine,
no longer longing for former highs.

But normally I'm searching for a crutch,
something to numb me or pick my mind up.

So don't ***** at me for considering a way out,
or cite reasons to stay that I don't care about.

Accept what I deserve
That’s right
Serve it up I’ll swallow it
It’s so dreamy til I’m choking
On the whole of it
Backed down
Strung out
I’ve never been so meek
Break out
Sit down
I promise I’ll be sweet
Frozen
Broken
I’ll withstand the heat

Spoiling with age,
a global atrophy.
If I hit rock bottom,
can I rest?
How much longer can I pick,
before there's no more ego left?

I had been on the verge of crying all night,
the bathroom was so tempting.
A cathartic sanctuary for just a minute or two,
not long enough to be missed,
not long enough to be noticed.
But I feared I might look over at the shower,
your shower,
and see us the day of the pool party.
It’s how I always picture you,
did you know that?
Do you do that?
Have a certain image of someone from a certain moment,
and that’s just how you picture them?
I picture you in the shower,
you looked so good,
the best you’ve ever looked.
Tan, defined, your eyes the brightest blue against white tiles,
I ******* melted and chased the water down the drain just looking at you.
And I looked the worst-
makeup smeared around,
hair in tangles.
Clumsy too,
I took out your shelf when we tried to have ***.
Height difference,
we never quite mastered it.
But it was funny
and we had such fun that day.
And now I’m so bored and I think you are too
and it makes me want to cry.
And want to be alone and
never have to look at you again,
or picture you in the shower,
or call out your name,
or touch you
cause it’s exhausting.
And at the same time I want to grab you
and look you straight in the eye
and say you’re one of a kind
and I’ll never forget you
and hope you know how huge that is
and I don’t care
if you don’t say it back
and I do care
if we never go on vacation,
or **** in a car wash,
or the main library,
or go on a date.

Maddening that it makes you feel pure
the security of your damp, decrepit sanctuary
and your empty, stomach churning words.
A pathetic refuge for you and your damage.
I’d set fire to your home
if I thought it would phase you.
I’d run sandpaper across your tongue
if you wouldn’t revel in the pain.
Unsettling how it doesn’t feel the same now
when you pull my hair
or the pace of your pulse.
A growing distance that you crave.
I’d banish you to the cosmos
if they wouldn’t bring you peace.
I’d gauge out your adoring eyes
if you wouldn’t turn them into art.

He asked if I wanted to watch the world burn,
and I gave a resounding yes!
But only in my mind,
that’s not something you cop to
at least not out loud.
Yes, I’d like nothing more
than to watch the world burn.
Or better yet
explode,
and ******* away with it.
Am I the catalyst?
The pyromanic ****?
I must be.
Drown me
so my flame goes out.
Smother me
so I can’t do more damage.
Bury me
in ash where I belong.

Sorry -
needed another fix.
Yeah, I got it,
but I'll leave it broken this time.
**** hits different,
more fleeting,
less potent.
I swear the hangover will **** me,
a karmic death I'd welcome.
I'll cut myself off,
at least try,
so you don't have to.

Rotten to the core,
it happened over time.
I didn't try to stop it,
didn't care enough to try.
I get nostalgia for the bad times,
I get off on revenge.
Caught in distance from family,
a stampede of fake friends,
or a flock of new lovers,
driving to the end.
And if we should run out of gas,
I'll hitch my way to Hell.
Take all that I amassed
and burn it to a crisp.
Send a barreling *******,
I'm not leaving you ****.