summaryyou greeted me smiling.it felt like thunderin sunlight.i know you to be as gentleas you are rough.i need someonewho knows how to touchso i can learn how to feel.your name means strong.you are shouldersand a smile,warm armswith snaking veins.today, our palms are likenesting dolls,and you are politeuntil your lipstouch mine;tongue tied,you are a new man.ankles swollen,pierced in vaini am your child.i am the sweetest moonunder the breath of bedsheets,our hands swimminglike boatson theopensea.
fridayhappinessa thousand ringswrapped around my bodytight like your armson my waist,loose enough to breathethe warm summer air.i caught myselfstaring at your hands,watching their veinsform roads to your arms,your shoulders.i didn't want you inside me.i never wanteda fragment of your heartto tangle with mine,a sliver of soulto stain my own,just a hand to holdand lips to kissand smileand share beautiful musicwith the winds ofroses.
i am wrongi am wrong.i promise my heartto the closest bodyof water,i promise my bodyto the closest heartof the matter.my hands still reach outin the nightfor another person,another blanket of skinstretched tight over boneand muscle.i am wrong.i never told him i love him.(i am right.)he means more than the sea'sbreeze to me,more than the bee'spleas to me.it is wrong of me(i am wrong)to tell you this.i cannot tell you of theutter throb in my chest,the dull ache and panicked stutterswhen i think of your frecklesweaving into his.i am wrong.i cannot tell youhow i feel.i can only hopethat you won't love himagain as i do;i can only hope thati am wrong.
i would give you everythingi want to trace your lineswith my fingertipsto know youas well as i canto touch you(close to heaven)to feel your faceunderneath my skini need someoneto call me babyto hold my tonguewhen i know i can'tto listen to my wordsbreak worldsor silencebones i have brokenor hearts i wish i had notthe constant, reassuring pressureagainst my skinlike tension of glue and paperi would die in your handsif you would only let me.
a letter of lovedear d,i'm sorry for everything. i'm sorry you're hurting, i'm sorry you can't see your own beauty, your sadness. i'm sorry i love you, i'm sorry you can't love me. i'm sorry you think i'm beautiful. i'm sorry i'm not. you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me. it makes me feel like marla singer. i feel cold and dark and drugged like you, i'm bleeding words for you. that is a blood stain. a word stain. a "love me" stain. and you can't. you make me want to hurt myself more than you ever have. you take away my hunger, the weight in my gut. i just want to spend forever in your arms, you in mine, forming a basket like wicker, white and flexible but strong, to keep us safe from the world.love always,e
a thing like lovei believe in love like some believe in god,bending over backwards, causefinally you found somethingthat will keep you from dying,finally you found somethingthat gives you hope,a home in a war zone,a sanctuary for sanity,finally you found your heart,lost in that hollow body of yours,always too afraid to excavateits caves on your own,always afraid of the monstersyou'll find in its corners,you were always hiding from things that might have been.and when you finally opened your eyes,there was love at your feet,waiting to be made.
why i always write whenbecause you are staticand magic and gemspooling in my palms.because you are finiteand fragile, paleand recumbent.because you are numband unforgetful,aching and regretful.because you are cocainecrystals and ecstasy,joy and loud color.because you are graffiti artspun from aerosol cansalong the expanses of freeways,because you are sad-boy-blueand tin-fingered.because i love you.
to god, love ei once held youas you fell apartin my arms;you, like smoke,beautiful in its toxicity.i am too afraidto say your name.you are water vapor,fragile andever promisingto disappear.i love your mostfragile son,i love him so completely and wholly,the sun can't even shineunless he is shining first.here god,here is your beautifulcreation,so achingly in lovewith the world; he isdoing everythinghe canjust to make ithurtalittlebitless.
the line between lovei use oxfordian commasto let myself knowthat we are notalike.we are notalove.we are notalive.we exist like seashellson the beach,like sand on the street.the hardest hitis the pluck of your guitarplaying the song youwrote for me oncewhen you loved me.i write you into my bonescarved like hieroglyphicsin the enamel,stinging sores erupting,hard-boned and wild,photographs-your face,spoken in light.i (for)give and (for)givebut i never (for)get.
trigger metrigger me, babyi'm your gunwatch me spill blood,look for thosethin red ropesround my wrists,corsets incarnadineto my elbows;how many waysdo you want to die?hold yourselfdownin the water, babyi'm not quite human right nowi am the june moonin that i am too bigand too fulland too bright;i am hungeri am lusti am want want want youback in my armslet every day be friday nightwe'll turn off the lightsand fall togetherlike pieces of the world.
quietudei know when it goes quiet,you think about me.and when you go to sleep at night,i am waiting in your wings.and when you wake at dawn,the last thing you see before openingyour eyes is my face.and i have felt you,a thousand times, i have felt youhold my head underwaterjust to drown me outof your morning coffee.i am not so bitterthat you must dilutemy very being.i am not so loudthat you must quiet me.it is all too much for my poor, angry heart.the delicacy that flowsthrough the veins of silence,the fragile branches of snow;the powdered sugarcaneas glitter on your fingers.the i miss yousthe lapses in conversation(and lapses in judgement)the ever-present wishingfor another word,just one,to be spoken,and send this quietudeinto the wind.
a love letter from erici am writing a letter to-day. i want to put jenny on paper, a girl with a heart like a lion and eyes like an elephant, big and brown and sad. i want to put the way i loved her into words, big and bold and sad. i want to write about the way she caught her hair between two fingers in the wind, the way she tilted her head to the right when she was thinking, the way she smiled with only half of her mouth. i wanted to write all of that, i want to write all of this:the way her hair smelled of lilacs and strawberry. the way her shoes shined like diamonds in the black of night. the way her skin yielded to my hands with the gentlest of pressures. the way she looked at me with soft eyes when she told me she loved me.it feels like my spine is dissipating, been pulled straight out of my back, with every second she leaves me behind.jenny told me she doesn't love me anymore to-day. i am writing a letter for the express purpose of lighting it on fire, hoping that the ash will catch wind and she wi
moth househappiness,elusivelike a moth,paper thinand breathing heart,skin with liltingpowders,flight under blood.your breath is paintedagainst the skyand i am travellingin spiralswith itto the stars.behind my lipslies a sunin full bloom.we are static,side by side andsong-hearted.i feel the sunpeaking from its curtains,i feel warmcreating photographsof my body in your arms.happiness,elusivelike a moth:i have caught it.
you will never waste my timeyou need to know this:the worst is never bad enough.i drew you a map from your heart to minein case you ever got lostbut you left me before you came backand never loved me since.when you are right in front of my facehow am i supposed to let you grow?a flower underfootwoodpecker caught in springesan ocean simply isn't enough distanceor else every breath is too far from yours.you are the sickness i always rememberedin the spring of years past.you are so far away that all this space makes me dizzy.tonight i fear colicas i roll round in sadness.i miss you,an ankle without its knee.it breaks my heart to do,but i will never stop loving you.
to jenny, from ericshe cut me out of her life,sharp blades neverslowing the hurtnever slowing the bleedingnever slowing my thoughts,always asking why,why why why.the letter is being stabbed outwith passive aggressionas i type a letter to her,y y y y y y.this is probably the biggestfuck youi've ever been slapped with.bigger than my motherwalking out on my family,leaving me with a dead fatherfive months of suicideleft in the drain,bigger than my brotherfollowing in his footsteps.i sneeze, say,god bless me.from the sky i hear,hell no.
mesentery.i get the same feeling lookingat you as i do dissecting catsbut it's oki know it just meanslove.i want to be more in love thanthe man who first wrote about true love;i want it to swallow my souland i don't want to mind;i want it to kill mebecause sometimesi think i should be deadand this would be a beautiful way to go -dying for someone betterthan myself, unselfish untilrealised it's the most selfishof selfish things,to love & be loved.it's sickening.black-tar-lungs,that kind of sickening.emphysematicparoxysms, that kind of sickening.the shape of your lips,in all their beauty:that kind of sickening.
how to be poeticlook at the spaces between words(on paper, in speech, in gaps of bone)and forget the rest. know the pauses are a thousand times moreimportant.break a few hearts, but break your own more.this should be irreparable if done right.(expectations tend to work beautifully for this.)find beauty in the ugly, and ugly in the beauty.realize it is a double-edged sword and you are somehow on both ends.look at birds and imagine them as lips.look at bodies and imagine they are perfect,objects they are not, magnets and clocks, animals and weapons.know that breath is not colorful or clean,rather it emits something that kills us in heavy concentration.stop writing about it.(see also: eyes, ocean metaphors, spines, medical terminology -- you're not impressing anyone with your googled information.)stop cleaning your house and wallow in your own filth.do the same with your life.stop in the middle of anything -- driving, pissing, sleeping, sex --and write down what might be ins
nervous behaviori was born in a thicket of woods.thicket.it means there were way too many fucking trees.the briars were sharper than the hypodermic needlesi stuck in my arms a thousand times when i spent a yearin the city. i forgot what it meant to feel.i just remember bleeding all the time.i was jesus.my mom didn't love me.she wasn't the mothering type.she was the surgery type.the type who blamed me for her sagging tits and rounded belly.she had me decades ago, i said, she can't keep blaming me.that earned me a punch in the face.i liked the way the blood tasted.that's how i got into it.i didn't think i'd get out.i didn't want to get out.that's what love'll do to you.now i'm living with clean veins and puncture mark scars,walking down the street with no second glancesat the wide, hollowed eyes i no longer have.god i miss the screaming,look at the monster, daddy! look! his veins, daddy, his veins!sh, honey, don't point at that man. he is a sad man.and i'd laugh
i only have nonsense.the tip of my tongue has never tasted a tragedy quite like you.by now, i should know better than to do these things. but i don't.so i will. the only sense of right and wrong i have anymore istrapped between the edge of my teeth and the curve of your lipsand i'm losing it. fast.not all of us spark when we kiss, but you've started the fire that'sraging down my spinal column and through my heart. i'm burning andit hurts everywhere. i still can't bring myself to mind because atleast this way, i still get to feel something.last night i promised myself that i would never say another word i didn't mean.so hopefully, the next time i say i'm not in love i'll mean it. becausei can't take another minute of watching you fade in and out of my lifewhen i'm just ashes on your fingertips.i remember when i wanted you to completely destroy me and then put meback together, but you only ever got halfway there. my heart still skipsbeats even after it's been burned and i still fall asleep alo
spooning"i want you"doesn't necessarily mean"i want you to stick your cock in me"it doesn't necessarily mean"i want to fuck you"it might just mean"please hold me""i want you on top of me"doesn't necessarily meananything my mother wouldn't likeit could maybe just meanthat i feel like i really existi am a real beingwhen you are lying still on top of me(it's not like it hurts, you're pretty skinnywillow boy
we have the softest heartbeatsi don't know what it means when you sayyou don't know what i mean.the implications of my every sentence stain theatmosphere like neon lights and i'm left wonderinghow you can still be so clueless. how afterall this time. after all the sentences we tradedwith each other. after every minute that makesthe miles smaller. you still don't get it. howyou could still not get me.this is the part where i need to remind myselfthat you were never mine.you've never been anyone's because there isn'ta sentence simple enough to make you stay sothree words and eight letters won't leave youbreathless in between my bed sheets. it won't makeyou feel the same. and there isn't an idea complexenough to make you stumble into love, becauseto figure out that the world is so much more thanblack and white would be admitting you've beenwrong all along.we're not the people we once were, but maybe ourexpectations are far too high.
i can't promise you anything.i made a mistakewhen i told you that i could love youforever. i know now that the only thingi can know for certain is that nothingwill ever be certain again. we couldwake up tomorrow and feel somethingcompletely different. we could wake uptomorrow and be completely different.that's the exciting part. it's also thepart that makes it hard to even fall asleepin the first place.my heart attacksmy every whim and everyday is this whirlwindof terror and elation and i don't even knowwhere to end or begin or if this makes senseanymore, but the one thing i've come to realizeis the worst kind of lie will always be theones you don't even know you're telling. soi'd say i'm sorry, but i'd like to think youalready know. it's nothing worth repeating.nothing ever is.when i'm tiredi tend to miss you in an overwhelming sort of way just because i'm not strong enough to fightthese feelings full time. i'm more of a halfwaygirl, but there are a few things i fully understan
i can't see what's real.the problem is to me nothing is ever going to be as beautiful as you.i feel like i'm going blind.this would scare me except i know it's just that the whole world has dimmed down a few shades since i last saw you. and my eyesight will never adjust again because now all i do is look for you everywhere i go, even though i know you're miles away, because all i want is to see you smile again. even if it's the last thing i do.i want to see your face because i've gotten so used to seeing no one at all. it's too empty here. i hear his name and voice, feel his fingers on my skin and his breath against my cheek, but i don't see him. maybe he sees a silly quiet girl with dull eyes and a silent smile that he wants to get to know, but all i see is 600 miles stretched beneath the tips of my fingers that i will never again cross and the person who lives there that i will never get to see and the lonely fact that i know where my heart is.and it is not here.it's there with you.i'll never get it b
second chances don't fit here.i never feel colderthan when i'm talking to you.i don't know what this says about us.but i know that i worry about the wayyou complicate something as simple asthe beating of my heart. i don't thinki love you. not yet. not since. notever but maybe that's just the strongsense of denial i've built up in thepast few months. i don't think i'll beokay. not now. not really. not quite.maybe you were good for me oncebut you're no good for me now.i often wonder what would happen if istopped speaking for awhile since allmy words ever do is make a mess out ofthings that should be easy. the thing isthat when i'm happy i let myself writea better story than what i have. i getcarried away and i make believe myselfto be a more lovable character than i'llever be. but this isn't fiction and thefact is sometimes all we get is oneperfect moment. my moment was you.but darling, when it's over, it's over.there are no chances left. not anymore.i don't really think i'm hopeless eventh
A Twisted Love(i wrote you a letteryou'll never see,)i wandered in the darkall my lifedesperately tryingto find you.then you found me.(& in this darkand twisted storycalled realityyou're the onlyone i'll need.)and i knewthat i'd neverbe able toleave you,(if only you loved me too.)i guess love isn'twhat I thought it'd be,i never expected itto be like this.do you even knowwhat you have done to me,because i haven't forgotten.(a dying roselays on your beda dying heartis what i have.)
she was everyoneshe wrote useless phrases on her wrists andhipbones because she wanted to bepoetic.she would count her ribs under thesheets wondering what she might do if there was suddenlyone less than the night before.she wanted to find meaning in the smell of rainand the darkness of her room butthe only place she found truth was at the bottomof the beer bottle and the spacebetween his hands and inside of her thighs.she was bitter that it was only beer she could stomach -it seemed she could not even be beautiful in thedestroyed lost sense of the word.she couldn't get to sleep beforemidnight andscabs that were prone to bleed appeared onher knees and feet.she was afraid of dying then, when she bled andno one noticed.she became sick of veiled comparisons, metaphors forsymbols that did not explain what she was seeking.she wanted to tell someone that when she saidshe felt like burning down her house,it did not meani am angry at my parents for raising me poorly and
i'm contradictory at best.i wonder what it's like to look into your face and not want to spill every secret i've ever had. i want to be startlingly indifferent. i want to say i don't care and mean it. i want to be reckless in more than that jaywalking every morning on my way to work sort of way. i want to say something that will completely change the course of everything forever. i want to be the sort of thing people need to invent a new word for, because "cataclysmic" won't cover what a disaster i am.i want to be someone new.i worry about why the air always tastes several degrees colder than your skin. i know there's a correlation that i haven't figured out yet, but my mind doesn't work fast enough to make the connections anymore. i worry that all the synapses are breaking apart and my brain is shutting down. i worry that i'm dying in slow motion from the inside out so no one can even tell. not that anyone would care, but i worry about the most absurd of things. and then i worry that i don't worry enough abo
what i will not tell youif i tell you, i knowyou will become a birdin my stomachflying forever miles away,out through my throat,singing songsican never have.i keep saying the wordsi love youin my head(i just wish i couldlove youin my armsinstead)