forever waiting until i can open the envelope in front of me and find out where i wound up.
i feel winded, twisted in a way that if it happens again i'll crack
end up on the sidewalk trashed and swept into the street by everything happening always and i'm tired
no part of me is lost but i think it would be easier that way, pretending that i have any sort of reason to continue trudging on in whatever muck i stick myself in to
at the bottom of everything, the sewage drains
and it smells like burnt out candles in a drawer
in the river
wet.

i've seen your face, recently,
popped up like that nightmare i keep having where my body is left in
lukewarm sweat. your eyes are still as green as stems, and i want to
upchuck upchuck upchuckupchuckupchuck

it's funny how when i was 15 you were my king,
i would have crawled hands and knees, blisters popping like your
car speeding, impressing the ladies with your hair flicks and
tricks
and i know now i am still that 15 ****** dress up girl to you, only i've
filled out, filled in, know where to put the eyeliner, make it waterproof,
knowing how to speak, my tongue is whipping and sharpening

the last time we spoke we didn't speak. you didn't let me.
you shoved the drinks down my throat so fast the cards were blurry and you waited oh so patiently. 'you're such a bad girl', you said.
with your manhood prodding me, you spoke mean. you never spoke nice.
i wonder if i'll always love and hate you.

for so long you made me question myself.
maybe i shouldn't have worn that, or said that, or placed my foot a certain way or maybe i showed my teeth too much or maybe i was being too flirty, or maybe not enough.
these self doubts became my condolences, and even after we were 'friends', you never looked at me the same way. i had to be 'friends' with you because my friends loved you, even after i told them what you did to me.

i see your face like beers shoved in the back of the fridge,
and i am so mad at you, so mad, so mad, so mad, you've taken my guts
and thrown them into the ******* sun.
i was fifteen, you were almost eighteen you and took my limbs and broke them all.
i was prettiest to you on my knees, but baby i am the most beautiful when i'm stabbing you you you you
repeatedly.

i know that this isn't me
i know that these tight open eyes and lucid feelings aren't me
i want to be reminded that i am not alone in this world
but i do not want to communicate with anyone
i just want to watch
while i can appreciate how unemotional and reserved i'm feeling right now, i don't like the dull air and rounded edges around me
i no longer understand why i used to allow myself to feel this way every day

this has been the season of cold feet and closed mouth kisses with
people who let other people 
build their walls

and 
stumbling is a part of my daily life now
i taste like noon, i promise you, 
i wondered if you were always on a different plane

even if we’re sitting so close that our knees touch

if i had clear skin,
i'd be the most confident boy
now let's stop acting like sadness and self loathing is a competition
because trust me baby i've been playing this game for years
and there is no prize

maybe when i was younger,
i didn't pick fights,
but i'd always pick scabs
until my skin had tried to heal itself so many times that i could no longer hear it squealing
no matter how many times i scarred.
i was taught to fix things
no matter how broken or ugly they get
maybe that's why i'm here
155 miles away from my safe place
thinking it will work.
raising my heart in my palms above the crowd
just for it to be publicly dropped down my throat
into the bottom of my chest
i wasted gas money on this?
i didn't risk the skin on the back of my neck but i did risk the
sensitive touch of your fingers on my back
and when i fall, i fall flat
and these scabs on my knees are getting harder and harder to ignore

your fingers dig into my flesh and
peel back my skin
and expose me to the open air and it stings
and i know i need to forget you
but it hurts to heal.

i don't know whats more painful -
the feeling in my stomach that reminds me of rain pounding on the top of a car or the
way the road looks when the only light that is shining comes from this guilty look in my eyes
i feel sorry even though i ******* know i shouldn't
i should hang these thoughts like prayer flags across all the doorways in my body
i should paint my insides wall by wall,
the prettiest color you've ever seen
so that i can call this place where i've been living for so long
'home'