placing bets, pt. 2

how can i even begin to explain what you do to me. should i describe where i am and what i look like? i'm sitting barefoot in the closet with the lights off, typing thoughts with cold fingers and feeling breathlessly alone. my shoulders are hunched, my thin ribs and crooked spine promenade themselves across my back like my skeleton wants to break free. I have called the ones i love most, the ones i care about the most, and i'm not sure what part of me is grateful, but that part of me is very, very grateful.

You may not understand that i am trapped in a thin cage,

that as i describe where i am and how i look, the tempo of my shaking body increases ever so slightly,

you may not understand that

but i never thought you would

and i'm glad you don't

part of me is glad you don't

just come and take me away. i've decided what i want. some people might be hurt, and i might feel the scratches of karma on my soul, but i have done what i needed to do. i have rolled my dice into a dark corner

and i have no choice, i must go pick them up

you used to be forbidden fruit

when the desperate sunken breaths
begin to quell
and the
clenching freedom
is gone
i search my chest
cavity, for your exact definition

naive obsession
you are the apple
outside the garden


where do i lay my head in sadness
when i only have the warm crutch
the space between your shoulder blades
and the nape of your neck


i am defining love
tonight
holding you close


how do i scribble at small punctures
when i've only ever known a black hole

placing bets, pt. 1

"I walk alone, but I feel ya there,
smiling upon me, I wonder
what you have drawn on your hands today,
runes to show you remember."

I walk alone, but I feel ya inching your way

along,

inching your way

you lightly caressing the bruises of

every pain i've ever felt

cup your hands around my soft

chin,

sometimes i worry about the

mess

i put you in

the curve above my jeans,

gentle belly with hip bones

(expletive)

cup your hands around my soft

skin,

lover,

lover

you are the muse

just some lyrics

"Was I in your dreams, I'd like to know.
Did I touch your hand and did it feel like snow?
Try to understand while I've got you on the phone.
Did I hurt you like I know I can?
Tell me why you'd ever wanna leave your lovin' man.
Try to understand, please try to understand.
Was I in your dreams, was I in your dreams?
This dreamer died when his dreamed died too.
But I don't really mind if I dream about you..
I can't say what any of that means.
Oh, was I in your dreams, late last night.
Did you hold your pillow, did you squeeze me tight?
I just wanna make everything all right.
Was I in your dreams, was I in your dreams, was I?"

soft little tears

there is a tear
from so much use
i still see the rip,
raw
white and naked it
lays there
buried with a sea of
warm blue all around
i still see the rip,
exposing the edges of my
panties...
beautiful
imperfection
the latest fashions have
been ripped
for
us
it must be excellent
to have not
"imperfections"
but perfect,
inumerable little flaws
because that's what
they want
to
see

*sigh*

i can forgive so easily

but it's much harder to forget

because it makes talking about the future

a little more scary

which direction you headed?

don't fucking read this

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

this is a waste of time

BUT YOU STILL LOOKED AT IT

let's lock our parents out for good

and do our goddamn jobs

let's lock everyone the fuck out

and do our goddamn jobs

let's be honest with ourselves

and do our goddamn jobs

let's write about sex we never have

let's curse and complain while we change the things that stay the same

let's throw in our love like it's fucking dirty laundry

let's clean this up

let's make this fucking work

let's do our goddamn jobs

and not waste a fucking moment worrying about whether or not we care

THIS IS MY JOB

staring ahead

with paper

in my veins

i slowly drink

each word

you say

like a 

terrible

medicine

is this

supposed to 

make me 

better?

maybe

this is the

best thing

that ever 

happened

because of this poem

maybe i won't cry about this

because of 

this poem

in the back of my throat, there lies...

it's hard to explain 

why

i need this

but

i need this

when every little thing

seems impossible, improbable,

i find myself here

wishing i wasn't

here

knowing

this is where i belong, near a 

blank lined page, 

with nothing but my kneecaps

to support me

nothing to hold the paper,

i shiver here in the dark hole

i am not a child

but i still want you to hold me like the day i was born