i didn't really leave you. you thought i did because these fingers crumble under pressure and sometimes i'm not as strong as i'd like you to believe. i am not the clawing or the growling or the ferocious strength it takes to break cities apart and move oceans into tiny sections all with equal proportions just how the old texts would put it. i wanted to run from here, but only because i had lost the legs to stand up straight and i wanted to so badly, i did. these are excuses, i know. these are responses to words you never asked but i always knew were on your mind and i'm sorry i never offered anything sooner. i pressed whispers into your ear that i knew you wouldn't make out all the way because maybe if it wasn't solid then it wouldn't ever have to be broken. cowardly, i know. i wanted to write them on parchment and fold them into your hand but they crumbled between nimble fingers and never made it all the way through. we'll get over this hump, we always do. we'll have shinier moments and you won't have to be so scared.

i want to talk about nice things but i can't. there is too much boiling and brewing and nothing ever gets solved, merely pushed to the back and stored for a rainier day. light showers become dangerous thunderstorms and everyone cries because there was no warning. that's all you ever want, right? warnings. we don't pay attention to warnings. we don't listen to that which has created everything we depend on because we've learned to depend on a false sense of stability that never was really ours. i can't build mountains for you and i'm not going to try. i'm not going to pat your back when the knife wound is still fresh because i'm not going to risk your blood staining my flesh. you want to believe otherwise? try me. i dare you. but don't ever say i gave no warning.

there's a brighter side to this and no i won't say what it is because jinxing is for sports teams that always lose and i for one am a team unto myself when it comes to this. i'd like things to be cleaner and simpler than the mess i always tangle myself into and i'd like for you to never notice when good becomes bad and bad becomes worse, but you will and i like you better for that. i don't deserve you and not just in the way i don't deserve quite a lot of things but in a way that makes diamonds shatter below careless fingers and unseen oils deforming vintage gowns. i need you to wait for me to be better than what i am today and if you do i'll make promises that aren't even empty. i'll be good for you and you'll be proud of me and these days of dramatics will be put behind us. for the most part. right now we're children spoiled in confusion and who's to say tomorrow we won't still be the same?

forget for a second that i'm the girliest girl you know

i'm trying to be a good boy, i am. i'm trying to spawn webs of air and space from these already bruised hands because back when i was a good boy that's just what the good men did. they drove bat shaped cars to rescue the weak and their flesh turned green when anger struck their bones and you aren't going to believe me now, but one of them even raced light because when you are built to be untouchable there's no time to waste on fear. i would sympathize with the villians because i know i've the capacity to be one as we are not born with angels on both shoulders and no man can hold an empty heart. but i really, really wanted to believe i'd turn out okay. and i still try to be one of the good guys and fight the good fight but i don't think it's supposed to feel this painful because i'm pretty sure men made from steel definitely would have given up long ago. the dirt i keep kicking into your mouth isn't supposed to come this naturally and i don't know where i learned a filthy habit like so, but i promise it doesn't mean i've stopped trying. it's hard to remember who you're at war with when placing the ocean between us instead of around but i've been attempting these acts of a soldier for so long it's become routine to keep love at a safe distance. this is not a love letter because i am just as guilty as the next criminal. i'm still stupid enough to believe that wings can be won by battle and i've yet to figure out that i'm just losing to all the angels. i really, really want to believe.

farewell to an easy warmth

Summer has ended and it's time for all the girls with wild orchids in their hair to replace the petals with snowflakes and slumber for days on end. We are not the anointed ones but merely just the dreamers and our only crime is the fabricated memories flowing through our veins. They pour from our mouths in slippery ribbons that only shine when the moonlight hits from just the right angle and when they glide across cold air we are reminded that truth is not the only guest to keep us company. We welcome twilight with open arms because it's been a while and we want to remember what the blurring gloss feels like. Secretive smiles and suppressed giggles crumble into our palms along with all the sand and seashells that we thought we'd keep forever.

snippets snippets

the dirt that once festered below these fingernails isn't there anymore and i'm not sure how that happened. the cobwebs i used to be so delighted to tangle myself in are coming undone and there's this light that is warmer now, but the shipwreck behind my eyes still never sailed. i still complicate things far worse than they need to be and i still make it seem like i've got things in order, like i'm not even paying attention to it, like the elephant isn't breaking the china but rather it's just reshaping the form. oh, i'll persuade you. you'll fall under my spell with dizzy eyes and exhausted fists from a fight lost long ago, and when you fall limp i'll grab you just in time to laugh into your ear as though i knew all along it would be this way. i didn't.

to all the red that is circling the room

this may come as a surprise to you, but the world doesn't owe you anything. everything you've been through and everything you're going through and everything you are about to go through is not anyone else's obligation to mend. it's upsetting, i know. it's a tragedy to think how lonely we are, clusters of humans thrown together in piles and all we do is fear each other. don't get too close, don't find me here, don't find me here beneath the bodies and the breathing and the numb limbs with false pulses. but you always get caught. your teeth snap and your lungs fight a battle like no other, but no one is flinching. it's infuriating you. why can't someone else take the pieces that you've picked apart and just place them back together again? why can't it ever be that easy? you'll find someone, you will. you'll find someone who will be desperately eager to take all your blacks and blues and make them milky again. you'll be propelled into a light like no other after every single time your body manages to become neck-deep in soil and it will be with a swiftness that chaos dissolves and drains from your pores. energy will be floating again and you'll see that the pieces were so very easy to put together this entire time, you just needed another pair of eyes to really want to see it, and that's okay - we all do.

but until that happens, learn to behave.

all i do is repeat myself

The sun is finally setting and in the window sill I'll lay with golden legs that speak in beads of sweat and fingertips sticky and red from a sugary syrup that touched no one's tongue but my own. We all have the love/hate relationship with this season. There's no time for thinking because our brains get to sleep even when our bodies are on, and slowly with ease we unwind the bolts from our necks and say goodbye to our makers because it's our time to loosen out of routine and fly at rampant speed. Air is thick and suddenly I remember all the hands I've held and secrets told, mostly into a sister's ear that always listened but never repeated. Did you know ears can speak? They do. They whisper back all the words overheard when you think you're just the white noise in a room. There's the impression, right up there, right above you. It means nothing when you can't really see it though, right? The dog at my lap looks at me with sad eyes the way everyone looks at me when I stay still. I tap her snout and ask her why the long face? but nobody else in this room thinks it's as funny as I do.

Chaos is beginning to melt and cool beneath teary eyes because everything you hated about yesterday is now obsolete and all the dead trees have found new ways to blossom again. All the food you love tastes better and all the books you read become more alive in your hands and all the dreams you have last longer now because this is our time to be calm again. Even with new schedules and a kaleidescope of memories that have yet to be invented, we're falling faster than we had before and whether you're ready to admit it or not, we like it. It's kind of freeing.

Beneath glass is where you'll find me. I like to think I'm hiding because I like to think I'm clever, but it isn't true. I'm in clear view and every move I make is so fucking obvious I could bleed clear liquids and it would still shine redder than the gums overflowing beneath all the kisses you tried so hard to make real. You're trying, I can smell it. It's not a truthful scent, this I assure you. Suck in breaths as hard as you can and take her in like the taste of a drug you've never known before. I remember what it feels like, I do. I remember itchy collarbones and mapping secrets across broken skin, it's something I'm fond of looking back on. Sometimes I look back so much that I can't see the crisp view of right now, right this very second, because what does this second matter if it is no longer building on yesterday? There is work to be done, but lazy crickets just like to jump and play and I don't ever feel bad enough for dancing with them, even during the stormiest nights. My bones ache for a fight that I'll never get and a pace much faster than my feet can carry. The night falls thicker and all I've managed are a few clumsy words for you to keep in your pocket and forget about until they are crumpled and washed and blurred into a bigger mess than before. I'm so hyped that I'm choking and I'm still not sure when oxygen decided to leave, but it happened sometime between all your distractions and pauses and oh I'm sorrys because you weren't that sorry, and I don't blame you. Silence is weighing down on me and I can't fucking breathe, do you hear me? I can't fucking breathe. My fingers are begging to grip and cling and hold onto something solid, but you're shaking and faltering and looking the other way. The inside of my mouth has been chewed raw and I'll blame you until it heals, which I hope will be close to soon. It isn't your fault that it's come to this, and it isn't your fault for not realizing, either. Bless me in your somber tones before I awake in the bitter cold again.

Just relax, just breathe, just breathe breathe breathe. Do you know how obsessive we are about talking about breathing? Do you have any idea how much attention we focus on something that we'd like to think isn't as trivial and involuntary as it turns out to be? With that said, I want to inhale all my flavor back like the scandals that once made us weak. I was prettier and more attentive and less rough around the edges. I didn't concentrate so much goddamn much on all the things I would never be but instead would strive for something better than I was. Now I just expect constant forgiveness. Forgive me for all I do wrong and step around all my cracks and broken vessels that burst too quickly for any of us to really be able to prepare for. I'll only ruin myself if I think no one's watching, and total destruction comes when everyone is. What can I say, I'm a crier! I cry over shoelaces if the timing is right. It doesn't mean what it should, but when does it ever? Lie beneath these lazy summer limbs and I'll teach you all the stories that you grew up learning wrong.

You're not going to scratch the surface, and that's okay. You're not going to make toy soldiers come alive and you're not going to create the worlds you envision on lonely nights because you can't play god when gravity meets the equation. We're defeated by science every day, but we still keep trying because it's very human of us to hope for more. I'm still hoping for more, and that's okay. Lungs have yet to collapse entirely which I'm pretty sure is a sign of longevity, but I can't be too sure and that could just be the hope again. It's draining out of me, fast and in rivers, and when I'm floating, you'll know. I'll wave, lending complacent smiles, because it's kind of been this dream of mine to do. If gravity sneaks up on you, that's okay. Hope can never be suffocated entirely and there's always more to borrow from others. If you're scared too, that's okay. Something solid is bound to show up eventually. Promise.

"this article does not cite any references or sources"

One of the saddest truths in your entire life will be knowing that nothing lasts forever. The skin you live in will deteriorate and the organs in your body will soil and the people in your life will come and go like fashion trends that you never even paid attention to. We are constantly progressing with every new step forward we take and as we build into something stronger than ourselves, we often owe that to the people we've crossed paths with time and time again. A friend recently asked me why it's so hard trying to move on, because I guess people sometimes get confused and are under the impression that I have any better answer than the man standing behind the curtain. Your heart will ache and your bones will crush and once you've melted all the tears into your favorite pillow, you'll rebuild again and become better than before. There's always that sense you feel when you know something is about to end. Something changes in the atmosphere and suddenly the clock ticks louder in your ear in a way that it never had before. Time becomes the master and you can't help but fall slave. Nostalgia seeps in when the finish line is still too far ahead to see, but the only thing you can think about are the memories of yesterday when morning has yet to even come. What happens tomorrow will happen tomorrow. We don't know what it will be or what the outcome will bring, but today is not over. Our lives are not over. If you can remember this, you'll be just fine.

goodmorning, heartache

It all means the same now. Take me slowly and pour me into the river because tonight is not the time to dawdle. There will be no more shreds of life to hand out to the beggers and there will be no more signs of gold at the end of this hunt because the map on my skin was wrong after all and nobody taught us to read upside down. So I'll sink here in a thick and languid way and you can watch from the sidelines since that's where everyone likes it best. There is no room for sympathetic kisses, they burn through my flesh and eat away at the bones. I stopped breathing today and I refuse to do so until I turn into a floating blueberry, because let's face it, that's what the spoiled fruit's destiny always was. Don't tuck me in or sing me sweet lullabies for the words will only kill me and sugary melodies will cause me to rot. Tonight I am your bruises and your mess and your every regretful wound. You'll never find the time you lost and I'm so sorry about that, but one day I'll forgive you for this winding trail you made as the gumdrops are long gone now and I may never find my way home again.

i was lying i am totally a princess

I watched a tree with blue bark and fingerprint leaves come alive. It grew out from the parchment in which it was rooted and I caught my breath in time to keep myself from pressing a flavorless kiss to its mouth. The pilot is drunk on too much truth and this plane will only crash if we give him anymore. My lungs are too tight and my skin is too golden and my words are no longer fresh, but I promise you this pinch in my veins is nowhere near going stale. Create a castle for me because even though I am not the princess and I'll never ask to be saved, I still want you to assume the position as though that's what I've searched for all along because I can be gentle too.

There is a ghost I know who keeps his soapbox on a shelf instead of below his feet and his liver tucked away in mystery compartments of my home. I can taste the sunlight in his skin as our movements are milky and stagnant, and he doesn't mind when my hands get lost in his pockets or when my girly socks end up on his feet. I don't know how to talk about other things and someone tells me that I'm not dying after all, that I'm probably just more alive than usual, that maybe I should try this sleep thing out more often. I find myself slithering from layers of disguises and fake smiles and heavy sweaters that weigh me into heavy oil, because this season doesn't call for it and even the new fashion line is full of thicker skin. There's something really attractive about those who are guarded. I want to climb beneath surfaces of skin and melt around tainted organs just to understand the anatomy of a voice that isn't mine. Slip me your secrets under the table and I promise to keep them in my pocket forever. My curiosity is demanding so look away from me and I'll sew your lids shut because if I can't see your visions then neither will you. One stitch, two stitch, three stitch, four, close your eyes and your eyes are no more. Tell me about your worldly ideas and your thoughts on nation raping leaders and the government that's eating us alive and I'll nod and smile and try to keep up, even if the way your breath lingers will only distract me. Give me a box of childhood memories and all the dark things that still scare you and I'll give you a chisel and a saw so we can break it all down together. Another sweater and another unspoken truth is gone and I'm toppling over this silence until he starts to shout and no matter how many funny noises hitch from the back of his throat we are that much closer at the end of the day. Everything is so much warmer now.