she told me that this is what it was like to be a firestorm,and i believed her.youre not golden sweetheart,
none of us are.we're not meant to look nice.
this is for our eyes only.dont look me in the eyes
and pretend that you dont know what i mean
take me to the cathedral pour holy water over my shivering shaking bones
build a baby grand out of my corpse,honey,its the only one ive got.
dont pretend you dont feel it too
and even if ill never be as romantic as you,at least ill try
at least i wont leave you here
gasoline on pavement,dying the only way you know how
they told me i could be anything i wanted so i turned myself into a gun,
hollow like your stomach when all youve had to eat the past three days is stale ******* bread.
dont look at me like that.
i know all of your secrets and youre the one still forgetting about my jaw,the one you broke.
i see it in your eyes.we both know how this ends
but I wont pull the trigger on heartbreak hills
not until theres more whiskey than broomsticks beating us ******
cigarette **** wrists against a concrete wall,you always were one for a metaphor werent you?
jesus,babe you look so beautiful in this light.would you let me take your picture with the old kodak we pretend doesnt exist?
im sorry if this is forward of me,but i think id like it if you dug bruises
into my throat
loving the only way you know how,and this isnt the kind of love you see in movies
cause its not really love when neither of you can stop chainsmoking for a ******* second
to look at the way the sun glints off hair at just the right time.
maybe if i had sinners hips youd kiss me,just the way i like
too much,all at once.this,you say,
this is what its like to be a firestorm.
we tell people we're just close friends,like in the way real people are close friends,
we tell people that the bruises on both our mouths are just from the red wine,silly,isnt it obvious?
the train station is too crowded.im fidgety
and the woman in the dress sitting next to me is reading a newspaper article about string theory
i wonder if it tells her about the way i sewed my mouth shut one winter
(or maybe that was you.whatever.its the same ******* thing anyway,isnt it,you say.stop ******* smiling at me like that.you know its not funny)
i wonder if she knows that the needle does not have to be very sharp to pierce the skin.
lesson one:stop pretending that youre the dragon.
lesson two:god.god.god youre ******* annoying.cant you keep your ******* mouth shut?i told you not to tell anyone,you ******* *******.if you show up outside my house again ill **** you.
dont leave someone voicemails after they leave you for the subway station. they will not reply.
this is normal.
you called me a narcissistic ***** and i think you were right but at least i think im worth something,right?at least i havent given up on my collarbones,thrown
them away like they're ******* trash.but what i mean to say is,
at least im not like you.at least i dont have a scar on my upper lip.
stop telling me that the ******* is a ******* metaphor,
this isnt a novel and im not a vampire
and last time i checked your eyes were brown,not black.youre not a monster so stop trying to be one.
the woman sitting next to me on the airplane wont stop reciting bible verses but i dont feel any more holy than i did three hours ago.
this isnt a ******* contest.you cant compete with someone to be the most ****** up,god whats wrong with you
havent you read about cain and abel
this will end the only way it possibly can
stop hanging grave markers on walls,cant you see the marks on your fingers
this isnt a ballad for a dead man and i dont mean to be condescending
but i like the way you kiss people,ten days after the time of death
and maybe ive left you too many voicemails at three in the morning
and maybe i stained your pillowcase with whiskey and secrets
but listen up,honey,you need me more than i need you
dont lie to me,you know its true
youre lying down at the bottom of the gymnasium swimming pool
and somehow youve managed to find comfort in it
dear reader:im sorry.im sorry about the mixtapes,okay,you were never supposed to find them and-and ****,ive messed everything up.bye.see you soon,
i guess.

Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

A boy in jeans,
A boy in trousers,
A boy in braces,
A boy in blouses,
A girl who smells like summer sweat,
A girl whose makeup hasn’t set,
A boy who swears,
A boy who doesn’t,
A girl’s shoulder,
A second cousin,
A girl who smells of **** and beer,
A tattooed boy with a silver sneer,
A skinny girl who’s got T.B,
A boy who daintily sips his tea,
A girl’s left leg – bare or stockinged,
A boy so cold his knees are knocking,
A nasty ****,
A suede-head killer,
Kate Moss,
Sienna Miller,
Vivienne Westwood’s crazy teeth,
Bow-legged loons on Hampstead Heath,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, green,
Cold eyes, big eyes, sad eyes, mean,
Darling sweethearts in flirty skirts,
City-Boy ******* in well-pressed shirts,
Elbows, throat, wrists, knees,
A consumptive girl’s chainsmoking wheeze,
Blonde girls with their hair in plaits,
Skinny boys, short boys, muscular, fat –
Girls with pink lipstick like strawberry frosting,
I’m telling you man,
It’s ******* exhausting.

I'm chainsmoking your breath
Filling my lungs with your oxygen
I'm kissing your sweat
Using your body fluids like glycogen
I'm tasting your skin
My lips exploring every inch of you
I see your beauty within
I feel **** when seen from your view
I'm dressed in your shadow
When you meet my body from behind
Everytime you have to go
I wanna hit pause and then rewind
As soon as we're uncovered
I know we'll both be wetter
I love being your lover
When our bodies snare together

4 AM
Foreign film
Bored hunger
Dry throat.

Getting late
Parlez-vous Francais?
Chocolate craving
Sore chest.

Darkest hour
Prefer Spanish
More caffeine
Matchstick eyes.

Endless night
Travel needed
Coffee tea
Much relief.

I heard ten gunshots tonight
Five followed by five
What would you wonder?
Would you ponder the loss
The potential life gone
The end of that song
Among the mass
Do we even hear the gap?
A missing melody and shoe taps
Breaths taken and cigarette butts tapped
People ******, persons loved
Lively laughter, friendly hugs
They're all gone
But it's just one
Who will mourn?
Who stole out of scorn?
What did they use?
Who held the gun?
I'm not sure
But my cigarettes done
Maybe one more.
That's the funniest part
Because to me in my mind
This cigarette is my gun
And the death is my lungs

I can't remember the last time I frantically searched for a sharp object in my sentimental clutter, or the time that I drove out into the middle of nowhere, searching for trees that I knew would end everything.
I remember the feeling, of madness and chaos and desperation,
but sometimes it feels like a feeling I never really felt;
only read or heard about.
But I do remember it.
And sometimes, in moments of desperation and chaos and madness, I have the urge to drive back to those secluded woods, just to make sure there are no crosses with floral wreaths dug into the dirt.
But I don't.
I drive to the familiar home I've made my niche, decorated with sticky noted "I love you's" and laundry on leather sofas, with extravagant floral wreaths hung on the brightly lit porch instead, and I find comfort in the fact that this is the place where I can finally rest my head.
So do things get better?
Well, yes and no.
Yes, I still drink alcohol,
but these days I sip it rather than shoot it,
and some days I'll take a few short drags of the cigarette I've been smoking on for the last few weeks,
but I don't chain-smoke them like I used to,


and these days, I always wear my seatbelt and get back "I love you too."

She took in a deep breath
of the almost wintry autumn air
a rush of cold wind filled her lungs
and made her feel more alive
than she had felt in weeks

refreshing oxygen mixed in with the
poisonous smoke of her
lipstick stained cigarette

she walked down
the midnight moon lit road

her eyes pulled up towards
the night sky
innocent of all light pollution
and she gazed at the stars

they were so clear that night

she took a long steady puff
exhaled
and watched the smoke dissolve
into Orion's Belt

with one more toxic drag
she threw out her cigarette

she looked down at her small dog
and smiled

she deserves a longer walk
she thought

and I deserve another cigarette

Chainsmoking cigarettes 

because I’m worried of 

getting lung cancer

two men
outside a starbucks
chainsmoking through
a saturday lunch

the sun is up
melting the snow at my feet
i wait for a bus that never comes

And I have finally grown out of the roots of my suffering,
The gnarled pieces of my tumultuous past
That have left me barren so long.
I am in love,
A tortured soul cast onward
And ready to take down my foes.
The beasts I once let suckle on my breast
Are today torn away for
I now know the meaning
Of adoration in the third degree.
I rest my weary sons,
Finally relieved of battle to return home
And rest their weary backs.
I breathe today
Exhaling the agony of a million sessions of chainsmoking.
I love today
Like an uninhibited soul,
No longer basking in darkness;
No longer begging for forgiveness.

You're the reason
I'm not breathin'
alone again
chainsmoking this evening away
all I need is nicotine
caffiene
and self-loathing
to make-believe I'm fine
the drugs make me jittery
and the hatred is comforting
I know **** well
the answer's in the roots
this is about me
but this is about you

So don't call me to check up
it just kills me a little more
and if you're so ******* worried
why didn't you say something before?
I don't need your sympathy
to wake up on a floor I don't recognize
you call it addiction
I call it coping
passing out each night
hoping it ends before I rise
I pray to god
you never hear these words
because you'll laugh
and nothing's ever hurt me more than that.

you sit in a daze filtered with street lights
At eyes length and ears depth
You wonder how you got to be
The ******* the second floor balcony
Chainsmoking as if you heart would flatline,
Your blood stop flowing
Through your veins that
The tiniest bit of alcohol was seeping through
To the skin that only sometimes felt comfortable
If you stopped

Only comfortable
When someone else was admiring it
And the shadows that dance behind you
Are the shadows that you wished you were
In your eyes, when anyone says I love you
Clinging to it
Believing that at the end of the day
That they won't stay
Whirring sounds of cars pass by
Thoughts become softer, the world becomes louder
You're not quite sure what you adore more
The silencing of your being
Or the loudness of your heart
As every chore you do is reciprocated
In ways you prefer to love
And be loved.

And be loved.
To be loved, to be loved.
What a sight I imagine as my children grow
To see the life I sought
With homemade cookies
And scrambled eggs for dinner
With snapdragons and lillies blooming
As rain water collects by the play set
Outside in the plethora of greatness

To sit on a second floor balcony and consider
The life that brought you here
With too many cigarettes
And enough bad decisions to
Create the life you always dreamed
Wouldn't be your own
Stuck between what could be
And what is

a couple months ago, i was okay
a couple months ago, i was poking a skateboard into my thigh
a couple months ago, i found myself in your arms, hoping you'd never let go
a couple months ago, you'd lie to your dad so you could spend the night
a couple months ago, we were in love

but now, i'm not okay
now, i'm leaving art class to cry in the bathroom
now, i'm chainsmoking marlboros, even though i know you hated when i smoked
now, i'm wandering downtown wishing i'd bump into you
now, i don't know if i can handle myself without you
now, it's not okay
but now, i'm still in love

It's 3 am and I'm chainsmoking
Cigarettes
I wrapped myself up in a cocoon with a blanket but I'm still shivering
Thinking about how you used
To wrap me up in your arms
While we slept on a ***** floor
But I was always comfortable
I miss the sound of your voice
So I get drunk every night and
Listen to the voicemail you sent me
In 2010

I will change the table
Someone so kindly hid under my desk
I will change it tomorrow
There's a trapdoor of sockets
And my chair keeps getting stuck

Tomorrow I will smile wider and
Not fiddle with my hands
I will not nod again and again
Like a bubble head on speed
When someone is speaking
I will not fear moving too loudly

When tomorrow comes I will
Be sure of how to wear my hair
And what to say when someone
Asks me if I've brought lunch

I will try to eat with company
Not hide in the restaurant that
You only know if you've been
There before

I will not cry at the thought of doing
This forever, for the rest of my life
During lunch, chainsmoking
My feelings even if my lungs can't take it anymore

Tomorrow I will not feel words
Dying in my throat

My fingers are stained that brown colour you only develop from chainsmoking yourself away from alive.
And blissfully.
Succinctly, into.
I'll be dead by tomorrow.

I fill my heart with rage thinking love will knock on my door.
**** flat on a floor,
Expectedly watching the door.
Seating in this dark old room filled with smoke,
My mind seems to be as foggy as this room
Yet filled with clear memories of her face,
****!
My mind spins hard with forbidden memories.
I seat up straight trying to get a smoke but all I see is this empty pack of cigarettes.

An hour ago I thought I would make it.
Chainsmoking my time away hoping the nicotine would be the perfect replacement.
You have always been my drug of choice but all you left me with was pack of cigarettes a substitute.
I have to admit
It didn't quite hit the spot.

I drown my sorrows in cravings for you to touch me.
Touching my lips as we kiss passionately.
I'm craving for the smell of your fragrance,
For it to awaken my senses and fill my lungs.
You filling me and I, feeling you.
I don't know what I miss more, these cigarettes or you.

I'm light headed with a splitting headache.
Reality slowly kicking in,
I feel the blow right on my heart.
I need an antidote for these aches.
A huff or a puff,
Maybe just the sight of you.
Something to bring me healing and a dose of calming effect.

I have nothing left but hope
They say hope killed nobody
But that's where the danger lies
For I am a nobody
Who's hoping you can accept a walking corpse with ashtray lungs and a scarred soul.

To the guy wearing the shirt
SAFETY in bright reflective orange color chainsmoking cigarettes
back to back
To the guy wearing the mask
SAFETY in front of your face
chaincovering fresh air
back to back

CHEERS
to each
thier own,
SAFETY

The 50% floating out in the G column somewhere
it’s waiting for me to put it down and place it
I’m not 50% but I’m gagging at the numbers, so many
This clanging piano is making me feel like I’m in the midwest, definitely
indefinitely, do you think I could spend the rest of my life away from the sea, next to Canada
in the cold-slowly-warming?  
I could move to Duluth.
in 2010,
I was five
I didn’t know about Alex G,
I didn’t know about anything but the way the swing in the cherry tree made me feel,
trapped and small
(I’m hopping around lines
but not reading them once I write them)
yeah I could go across the country
yeah I could walk for awhile
yeah I probably couldn’t tell if I liked a boy
or tell him I like him
yeah I think acoustic guitarists and emo vocalists and edgy, chainsmoking guys
get It.
whatever It is (and doesn’t everyone! feel that way too)
and my teapot smells like plastic when it boils
and it doesn’t whistle
and I chewed all the gum I bought yesterday and
my mom’s name is Alex, too and
my face is puffy, round, just soft skin folding in on itself for eternity,
soft hanging skin stuck to me, and recently, I've been thinking 'everything’s fused it couldn’t rip apart
without dragging the rest of it with itself--
My family’s in new hampshire and they miss me. 
my family drove to new hampshire with my sister and they are a family
four years apart (without me).
I don’t know if I miss them right now and
this coding project makes me feel like
V-sauce or a conspiracy theorist
or something awfully STEM-y and it scares me
and it makes me awfully happy too.
i hope everyone majors in what they want to and that they love it
and they feel glad when they have that degree
and we’re gonna be twenty-two in May
some people will be twenty-three
and last night, Vik said she’s glad I’m awesome and I told her
awesome is a strong word, I don't know about that,
awesome is a big word
and we laughed about it.