Two seconds have passed

And you are in my rear view mirror

While she is next to me

Nothing feels the same


It is cold now, but I am not

And neither is she

Because there’s more tea than either of us can drink

And we both brought scarves

In the event that our words were not warm enough

And we didn’t feel sufficiently wrapped up in conversation


I wonder if you can hear me praying for your touch

I wonder if you see it in my eyes, or if my cheeks are flushed

Am I biting my lip?


Have you realized that we’re pink and white

Like the song in your headphones

And the light of this sunset

And the colors behind my eyelids

I can’t sleep again but it is not out of pain

It is out of the unceasing desire to continue to devour this savory reality


You ask me “what is a dichotomy” and I say something dumb, like “us”

Because there is not unity but we are two halves of a whole

I can feel it

On my scalp, racing down


I consider sometimes

The option of just relaxing into the pain

And the anxiety

And shame


There is no peace here

There is no alone without lonely

No happiness without contingencies or a time frame

No rest without alarm


I have someplace to be tomorrow but nowhere I’m headed in five years time

I crave rain because I’m thirsty and vodka and mixer is no longer quenching it

I am dying, but it is a slow death with nothing to do in the meantime

The neon only has color when you want it to

And tonight I don’t want anything


I know the words but I cannot link them together

I can only glue them, wrap them with wire, and hope that they set in the right place

Like a broken appendage


This emptiness is cavernous and I know it cannot be filled with small talk, people I don’t know, or kisses (genuine or otherwise)

I want promises

From myself, from you

That we’ll both be here, and hold onto one another

Even when I can’t stand your touch

Or so much as your voice, echoing and muffled behind my closed door


My friend, where are we going?

Running desperately to catch numbers beneath our feet

And hold onto them

Cold metal in empty palms

Curing stomach aches with delirium and sips from opaque water bottles, when the only ones we’re fooling are ourselves


When we open our mouths the laughter does not escape, but turns into perspiration on the backs of our necks

So the walk home feels cold

And solitary

Though we march towards comradery nevertheless

As it is the only way we’ve found to avoid being stung

11.17.2017 (Fire Story)

I write from pain but never from apathy

But in apathy is where I long for the words

Where I reach for them


Tonight is such a tangible lonesome

It is violently, angrily grasping at me

And I feel the ache of the empty

Heavy, hanging off of one shoulder


But in my periphery I see shapes moving

I hear their flirtatious laughter, the most innocent lust

It echoes in their rooms and through the halls

Through me

It resonates

Like weeping in an empty church

Or a scream on a deserted street


And it goes undressed, except in weary waterfalls

I’ve been trying not to hold onto it, but it sits in the center of my chest at night

When I’m trying to float away


There is no longer satisfaction in the invisible

None in the internal

None in the fantastical and none in the real

I am only privy to the pleasure of escape


A forth of it all is so bitter

And nausea inducing

But I cannot put it down

I’m wearing on the filter

And won’t say it again

Because once should be enough



I wonder when it was that I began to retreat into myself

Folding, collapsing

Like oragami


To be more aesthetically pleasing

Palatable and unobtrusive

I molded myself to conform to the desires of my consumers


And then I decided not to

But ravaged gardens do not remerge overnight

Or even within the span of weeks, or months


Each blossom must learn of its safety

Must feel it is welcomed

Be allowed to reappear and then encouraged to flourish




I am unfolding myself bit by bit

I am creased but not tattered

I am scared but alive


And I am relearning the meaning of ownership with every passing day