11.27.17

I remember telling him

I remember saying

 

I told him I was dying

And I put it in pounds

And he told me he was almost impressed

And then we laughed and smoked a bowl and he took off my clothes and I forgot that I was deteriorating because he always had this way of making my nothing feel like too much

 

He turned a blind eye, everything my thighs were saying didn’t matter

My wrists were not loud enough for him

So I painted myself indifferent, if indifferent is the color of hospital walls

 

He called me a few times

So he could ask me about my body

My hipbone rib cage spine and no ass to speak of

My no tits to speak of

 

Even when I left him, he didn’t leave (and I didn’t make him)

He was already moved into my body and mind, key twisting into my sternum like I open only for him, I open only for people like him

That my definition is the one that he wrote

The one that he carved into his own leg

 

I told him it was over and it didn’t graze his ear

I told him that we were stuck, and he cried until we both did, and I was weak enough to kiss away his tears

I told him it was killing me and he said he was almost impressed

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9. 06. 2017

Our conversations are morphing into side effect show and tell

We are our own classes and there seems to be no contraindication,

but fuck, I still run through the signs in my head

Still play back the days where we were unmedicated, unmitigated lovers loving every second of our interactions

 

And you are changing now

But I don’t love this less

I will assess you, taste test you, slide my hands over your body

and learn who you are today

 

Placate this pressure in my chest that boils over when I think of the frequency of your voice dropping to my feet instead on grazing my cheek

When I think of your soft, your smoothness, your rounded edges melting off to reveal the hard

When I think of your hunger getting worse, and the things you might do to satiate it

 

I have no way of knowing who you are going to be,

but I see that you care for me

I will take that solace like my last dose

What I hope for most is your happiness

 

8.06. 2017 (Losing It)

Carrying hope for better days, like flickering flame

White wax on cold fingertips

 

Blisters from grip, slipping

Jump start like now and not later

Favor the moment when the moment’s

Flavor is sweet and the sweetness

Is not lost on burnt tongue and

Burnt jacket

 

Horticulture escape into green meaninglessness

The feebleness of communication

Crossed lines that shake like tightrope

Slope is only downhill

 

6.27.2017

When I opened my eyes, the walls were purple

And I was not hungry any longer

The arrows were pointing me in the same direction, but had lost their meaning

To-do lists faded to lines of gray

 

I pray that one day, I will fight this head on

For victory or defeat

Because purgatory is no place for rest

And I am so tired

 

Purple fades to blue, fades to white

6.21.2017

The taste for sweetness lost on burnt tongues

Looking for reasons to scorch fertile earth

 

Familiar shames boil to the surface, and then are reconstituted

All in the blink of an eye

Before they can be skimmed off to salvage the rest

 

Eyeing true growth has me searching for a name for what we have

(I hunger for understanding but no longer wish to be troubled by it)

6.17.2017 pt.2

I need some time alone

To think

Not apart from you, but in the absence of you

 

My periphery is more lively than my foreground, and I know I must refocus

Not for the sake of the story, but in the interest of clarity

Reignite the fire that once nearly consumed me

 

But I can’t stop thinking about you in my childhood home

6.17.2017

I will wear this vulnerability if you ask me to

I am not concerned about finding traces of it beneath my eyes in the morning

And days later

 

I’m not yet sure of how I want to grow

Which objective I want to direct my elongating stem and unfurling leaves towards

Can a flower bloom in a pressurized environment?

Does it enjoy the sunlight if it does?

 

I spent so much time wishing away the cold, but am finding the heat to be equally unbearable

I do not wish to plot my retreat

But I would like its facilitation

 

I still daydream about how it might feel to be ash