she came to me, freezing - and
that grounded me
there, because i could not stop
dreaming
of warmth and its elusivity after
the waking. and i
was glad
for the cold, because i knew it
meant she was real, that she wasn’t
another delusion

sometimes she forgets, and
she wakes me up by touch - i hate those
late nights, because i am robbed
then of hypnopompic tranquility.

most days i wonder what it’s
like, having zero obligations -
i dozed off in the surf, painted neon blue
by some nearby coral beast’s castoffs.
it wasn’t dawn i was waiting for,
but just the tide rising high enough
to submerge me completely -
my lovely wicked moon its accomplice.

i’ve had them, resting their heads on my chest
listening
listening
listening
to the same ******* beat that my doctor tells me isn’t right, and they think it’s for them.

she slowed it down so well some nights i felt weightless, every ba-thump a microsecond offbeat, my entire being syncopated -


flit.

tempt me near a decade
thought myself Circe’s swine
multiple lives bear multiple aches
to sail is to leave behind

who wants to live forever?
reincarnation, rather
she could ruin every life i’d ever live
just mere pigs on her isle

Like smoke you dance in my daydreams,
Beckoning me with **** me eyes and a lazy grin
An orange hue sunsetting your fire,
The curl of your finger saying come hither

And I wake from this like fire into water
I watch you twirl slower and slower
Into steam, you disappear like the wind
and with resignation again I'll dream

still i wait. will the Stars deign
To reply? skyward i plead my case
but my best has fallen just shy
i see them leave, one by one
even the clouds have left the Sea behind

Still I wait.

i’ve never seen her in the sun.
i wouldn’t care to,
to see light touch where i never have
to see light own what i could never

I am haunted, I think
By the ghost of you
It lingers in hallways
And in the corners of my view

The faint outline of your head
I can see, lying on my chest
Ethereal hair brushing my skin
While I lie with someone else

It is worse when I am alone
Staring at the space between my hands
My delusions resuscitating
The memory of how well you fit that span

I knew an hour in that it wasn’t going
to work, and it was a unwelcome thought.

Maybe it was because I was gone three sheets to the wind, as I had to be to even leave the sanctity of my sanctuary - still the feeling that it wouldn’t hurt as good as I hoped it would felt full in my mouth, promising to ruin my inebriation, promising to ruin my night/week/life.

I suppose I hit on her after, but she must’ve not taken to it - I woke up 8 hours later on the side of the road, with just the vaguest memory of yelling at a cab driver to run me over, and the smell of dead babies in the air.

I just wish she was as ****** up as I needed her to be.

Growing up, I watched my mother leave a man she married too young. My father, in his grief, traded tears for beer and a marked ring finger for a string of women. I swore there and then I would never believe in happiness.

Growing up, I watched as my mother’s boyfriend hit my younger brother, careful to leave bruises only where cloth covered up skin. I watched as my mother watched: silently, and never raising a finger. But I was the better person, I think: I was waiting my turn. I swore there and then that I would never trust anyone, not even family.

Growing up, I watched my older siblings stumble through the pitfalls of teen life: they fall out of love as quickly as they fell in, and rebelled against anyone who dared presume authority over their lives. I watched as they sought the attention our parents could not give: from strangers, no less. I swore there and then that I would never need or want of anything from anyone.

words moved me, and
God
i wanted my fingers to blister and my
bones to ache
but my mind withers and my heart breaks
i swallowed ink and still i couldn’t
make the words flow like they used to as if
almost as if
they refuse to

It is burning outside. I
argued with the stars too much
I think and now the
sun wants to melt me. And I
would let it, let it
thaw the tiredness from my
bones, let all of what I am
seep through the cracks
and dissipate like old ghosts
confronted by the sunrise
but instead
I am burning on the inside.

I think of you when I am alone.

When I am cold, and the warmth of a duvet does not quite match the heat of your body.

When it is 2 in the morning, and my thoughts jumble up and form a caricature of you.

When I am asleep - my few hours of refuge from the constant letdown of sober consciousness, bombarded with images of you, dredged up from memories I would rather forget.


I wish that was it.
But I see you everywhere else.

you were my Yoko,
but i traded starfire for
a couple more thighs to keep the colder
nights away but I wouldn't
dare presume to be
Lennon, writing verses across the universe
instead I scrawl on the walls and hope to
god you never see your name
scribbled so facetiously
indelible, never forgotten but so undeserved

it's always a little wet this time of
year. I don't mind the cold
so much as the dampness, but it fans
the anger a bit, when it should be tempered.

I am mad, yes, but not the
manic kind, I'm mad the way old men
rap on your windows with their
bony knuckles and yell at you through the thin glass for playing the guitar too loud. I'm mad the way the same ***** old men try to
drink and smoke and ****
themselves to death,
trying to drown old hurt or
some ******* like that but it all comes
out in the wee hours, covered in bile.

In a sea of gin you sailed,
To conquer a future you dreamt of
In a hallucinogen induced haze
You exhaled smoke with every breath,
Fogging the world over with your intoxicated ideas
Sentencing rebel thoughts to death
You figured you were in an epic,
The ones where the hero stood against the world alone
But only you were against you and it was tragic
That battle was lost when you sold your heart for a bottle of poison disguised as magic

I couldn't look into the mirror today
I was afraid to meet the bloodshot eyes of someone I barely knew
I'd seen that look on a dozen faces before his, and I couldn't deal with disappointment right now.

what a riot.

I've read this before, in countless YA novels that ate away at my brain; the soda of the written word
"I don't recognise myself," he says to himself, fingers dancing over his reflection.
"I have to figure out who I am."

what a riot.

I took another hit, and another and another
I couldn't afford it, but needs must-
And I needed to forget.
I couldn't look into the mirror today.
I'd recognise him too well.

what a riot.

suppose we splinter at times.
i remember splitting knuckles on gravel and
tar. staring at the insides of my traitor hands, thinking it was remarkable how pain looked so
different, so comforting as opposed
to how it felt

I dream about you still
even in my waking hours you come, unsolicited, like bugs in the walls of an unkempt house
and I would let you in,
and warm you up by the firelight
but you insist on staying away
and I am left with soft echoes of you
haunting the recesses of my brain
I wish you would come back
completely, or leave forever
because I cannot live with halfdead memories
Only to wake up and feel empty again

We met when summer was dying and over the flutter of their wings you couldn’t hear the birds sing.

The breeze in the night couldn’t cool me down long enough to stay away, but still you were worried.

You were right.

I left when fall came, letting the chill set in and seep through your skin.

I strayed, but not far enough to not notice your heart wither and curl up like so many golden leaves.

of course i dreamt about then
insidious, hazy but now all i smell is
vanilla and it reminds me of a heart
twinge the way it envelops my
sense of self. the hill i would die on is
the hill i ran from, the spiral
downward familiar i
wish you would see me burn

the tight ball of nerves sitting in my gut
has not left
only you, everything else is white noise

So out of it - it’s a shame you had to learn to write their names down on skin, because paper was left for better things, for obituaries and weddings
way past using, we’ve regressed into abusive but you don’t believe me when i say
**** helps, sober i overthink the bigger picture, sober i don’t stop to smell the flowers

do you know this dream? tied
to a fence, barking. the mailman comes, afraid -
he confuses your overeager friendliness with ill feeling. do you
know this dream? the sun never goes away - your cratered imperfection never shows his face. do
you know this dream? on her sleeve worn, you wear away.
the wind never blows you straight - do you know
this dream?

you tell me about
love, and say I know nothing. But I know enough.

you tell me love is your parents grown
old, together, both
each other's pillar.

you tell me love is your man
walking you home and
leaving you giddy on the doorstep

but i know love.

love is my father yelling YOU ******* ***** when my mother tries to sneak in
in the dead of night

love is me, sitting outside the cold apartment, waiting for her to come visit her four children

love is my mother's boyfriend, and his clothes hangers on my
back, from being too noisy playing
Wheel of Fortune on the old white computer

love is me, smoking my weight in
chemicals

love is me, hiding my noose in the corner
of my cupboard, worried what my siblings would think

That is love.

my dreams have been wanting, as of late
it's a shame you cannot wake up dead
i dream of the shiny hook in my throat
of blue skin and bodies that just won't bloat

are we fishing for words here?
or do we want them to disappear?

my mouth is a graveyard, filled with everything I could never say. the musings, the ravings, they lose sense as soon as daylight graces them and they unravel and unravel and unravel into a giant headache, the kind only opiates can help with and even then


even then the yelling does not subside

i hate seeing my reflection - it is a
stark reminder that i am here.
the call of the void is always fleeting - how easy would it be to step in front of a bus?
i struggle with coming to terms with this - even suicide is not an option, even dead i wouldn’t want the responsibility of my own death on me.

seeing is believing, i avoid mirrors just to avoid the ****** with bloodshot eyes - but even eyelids scrunched shut i still see myself


I can only hope that one day the ache will outhurt the fear of whatever’s after

you asked once why everything
i write sounds like regret - and i
remember lying through my teeth, wanting so ******* hard to sound like as if i’ve never given a **** in my life and wasn’t about to start.

i mean, it worked with everyone else, didn’t it?

i was fuming. how dare you? deconstruct
me like that, and for that i mustered all of my boyish pride - and pretended I never knew you.

and that is why everything i
write sounds like regret.

******* hurt me, *******.

just ******* do it.

when your world’s been throbbing grey for the better part of a decade you’d settle for the sharpness of red as well.


just let me ******* feel something

before any of this i never
would have questioned the stars.

i knew enough to know that i knew nothing, and it was never contentment i felt but resignation - far be it from me to think i deserve understanding.

but i’ve seen brighter things now, brash and clad in flannel, impulsive - and it was hard to tear my eyes away and force them skyward, but the stars never blinded me.

it could be said that i dwell in the past more than is healthy - it’s just that there are just certain nows that I live in infinitely, its shelf life in the murky recesses of my mind extended involuntarily whenever i slip into the haze between lucidity and oblivion.

the nows aren’t good or bad - but that’s par for the course, i haven’t seen anything but greys in the last decade

its maddening.
trying to force the words, any words! out.
god ive never met anyone more deserving.
even still, anything i write? i doubt.

maybe i read more into it than i should have.

i doubted it most nights, but every once in a while you’d look at me that way and smile -

and all i ever wanted was someone to look at me that way, and smile.

i am selfish, hungry
yearning for what i could never need
that my ego would smother any want in the crib
because i know what i become when
stripped bare, that i lose any sense of self and become an unfaithful anagram of all the things you
love and deplore

some nights
i am there, flying over words, my brain voiding out the blank worlds it skipped in its impatient race to catch another glimpse of what i saw that night, you knee deep in the water with your eyes lost beyond the horizon when you said this should be enough but it never would be

other nights i am here, crawling over words, trying to get to there.

most normal nights it's about something stupid or other, like my mother's tendency to cry when I visit her

like my inability to find something I could stick with for all of adulthood other than writing terrible anecdotes on existentialism

like the look of abject disappointment on my father's face when he found out I was getting dropped from school again

like the whole of 2015, where I spent all year convalescing behind a bar counter, convinced I could save peanuts for a degree

like when I watch motes of dust wrestle in dim light and tell myself it's just a phase


it's just a phase

It ached. I remembered you, and it ached.
I walked where our feet treaded, my sneakers in sync with the prints we had left in my memory.
I held her hand, and thought about how warm yours felt that first night our lips touched.
The smell of strawberries coming from her hair suffused the chill night air, and I couldn’t help but compare how similar it was to the flowery aroma of yours.
Almost angrily I pulled her chin up, and stared deep into brown eyes that looked so much like yours;

I kissed her,

And it didn’t ache anymore.

Must've known you in a previous life
You were the sun, and I was grass worshipping the sky
Must've known you in a previous life
You were the sea, and I was a cliff worn away by your tide
Must've known you in a previous life
You were a flower, and I was a bee heartbroken by your side

Would've known you in our current lives
Intertwined like vines but never really seeing eye-to eye

I've told no one this but I always did
love your madness. it was honest and intense. but i didn't come any closer because
it was like wildfire, and I'm more used
to the cold.
you were still in my head
then, and I kept myself out of your grip.
just out of your warmth. it was bad
enough to see other men burn but I never
did even once think I was above it all.
hell, i tried to smother your inferno. now I'm the one on fire.

hello barbie
r u there?
It's been 4 years and 57 girls
But i dreamt of you two nights in a row
And this is why i tweak most nights
If i can't dream it's easier to believe that i'm doing just fine
Do people have somewhere to go when they're alone?
I feel like all i can do is roam and roam and roam
I'm privy to the big secret
That nothing really matters
And we ascribe as much importance to where we deem it most fitting
And i cannot for the life of me figure out after everything
Why it still stings

It was 5 in the afternoon
We hid from the world behind a closed door
The smell of flowers stuck under our noses
Your pale lips shook me to my core

they say you lose the voice first
the way she sounds, the way her laugh makes your toes curl
i think you lose everything in a night
when you stay up late wondering how the two of you died

how did  a few nights with you
turn into months of restless sleep?
you haunt my fever dreams,
in them your fingers reach into my mouth
to pull me by the teeth

how are you telling me
that your existence is weightless?
i could drag you down, the way
my own being has dragged me down for as long as i’ve misunderstood its purpose

"Write about me," she said.

No. How could I?
I felt nothing.
I was nothing.
Putty in her hands,
just another boy in her bed.
Another notch on her bedpost
Another night she wanted head.

With all honesty, I was only
here because I wanted the same:
to dive in quick and after,
still feel sane.

"Stop writing about me," you said.

No.

regret
[ri-gret]
/rɪˈɡrɛt/
noun. the lump in your throat that arrived when she left

tell me about the sadness you have squirrelled away. the one that threatens to show itself in every smile your eyes don’t quite follow. the one you nurture secretly, feeding it with short bursts of self-pity that no one’s ever privy to. your little guilty pleasure - because you cannot feel anything else, so this will have to do.

I have written enough to fill libraries about you.
I have painted enough to fill a museum or two.
I tried capturing worlds with words and universes with brushstrokes and everything in-between.
Did you know there are over a million words in the English language? And only 10 million shades can the human eye see.
I didn’t. It took your presence to realize there were so few words to describe your eyes,
And your absence made me notice every shade of gray caught in the damp morning light.
Flowers will grow from the dirt beneath my ribs and the world will die a million times over before I forget to write about you.
I hope you don’t stay forever, but I pray my words do.