i dream of being
a broken thing
with too long
bones and
white,
white teeth.

i dream of being
a broken thing
with broken glass lips
and eyes so
deep.

i dream of being
a broken thing
with moth-like wings
and a too sharp
beak.

am i lovely
am i lovely?

how could anyone love
a broken thing
with poison apple skin
and cracked,
pointed feet?

monstrous,
monstrous,
i have a creature’s soul
i grow in the dark and
devour sleepers
whole.

loving vs. caring

you drive yourself like
a high speed chase.
can’t slow down can’t
turn back,

highway signs lit up like
salvation like freedom;

there are no turnoffs.

i’m sorry that i
lived here i’m sorry for
the noise.

i’m sorry you confused
my heart with dried up
sidewalk leaves.

if the wheels keep
turning this way we might
have bigger problems
weighing on our spines.

i can’t tell you what you
did wrong.
i won’t tell you what you’re
doing wrong.

you have a heart of
surgical steel,
so bitterly
anatomically correct.

i bit my tongue to
choke the words in my throat;
thought i could drown them like
an unwanted pet.

you made me cough
all the blood into
the toilet.

i cough out dreams i
can’t remember come morning,
my skin a stretched out canvas for
words i never wish to
see again.

to walk down hallways
with hollowed bones,
to have a lightness not found in
the darkest of nights;
i would trade all the wealth
to become a hollow,
spineless thing.

i have not a quicksilver tongue,
i bite my lip til it’s bloodied,
but for you i would be rid of whatever
gifts i possess
just to press taught strings
to finger prints.

long gone lovers

press unto your mouth a
bruising kiss;
beneath my fingers a
far cry from emptiness.

paper edges the cure for my
loneliness; i think you taste like
sleeping sickness.

drown my thoughts in
eyes like dried up leaves;
claw at my insides,
as my lungs heave.

picking ash from beneath
my fingernails;
i lean over the edge,
grasping at the rails.

when you’re dead and gone,
your skin (i once touched) cold;
no one likes what will grow old.

i can’t count broken bones
or feelings of dread;
i think of you,
and i feel dead.

no martyr

i made a deal with the devil:
give me breath while i drown,
give me blood on my cheek,
give me love with sharp teeth and
a body count.

i was dragged to hell by
red eyes and a
hero complex, claws at
my throat,
voice caught.

i gave it up,
i gave up everything.
why is there still water
in my lungs?

you can’t save everyone
a thing i once said.
it’s true, it’s true
i don’t want to be saved.

i give myself to the
hounds.