last night i woke up from a nightmare.
my boyfriend of 2 years knocked on my door,
held a colt 45 to my chest,
smiled,
told me "i love you baby"
and pulled the trigger.
i didn't die,
no, that would be too easy.
i stood there, bleeding and hopeless
and watched him pull the trigger
with the gun to his temple.
the twisted thing is,
watching hurt more.

not every poem is about beauty
too caught we are in the moment to write about it
that is what makes it beautiful
pain clings long beyond instants
prolongs and window reflections
engulfing our bones
masticating our stomachs
from slow drip bile coffeemakers in our chest
the line from that one song starts the burning
and the eyes of a stranger flavored with reminders
i wish i could tell him i finally got to ____
my blood is chunked with tomato slices
acidic clots and stagnant passions
float me in melancholy perplexities
a minute of oddity where emotions
are unidentifiable

I crave you like a cigarette and I just as equally want to burn you.
Smoking is an addiction of poison that will waste you away and acid drenched flowers will grow from your ribcage. But I assure you, I'd rather turn my lungs to ash than ever be kissed by the putrid lips of love.

Your soul poured into mine like vinegar
Pure enough to see through,
But too sour to taste.

But I drank it anyway,
Downed all your
                             cigarettes,
                                                 bruises,
and.          dusty.      records.

And I knew the skies would dull
But for now, that was okay
Because you didn't
mind my
                  empty bottles,
                                             scars,
and.      unread.     books.