Give me a beginning
of ring rash as a hobby;
Of awareness of all the colors I can turn.
You are on a trip to Oklahoma
And I am on a floor somewhere,
drinking from a straw,
of everything I am getting into;
thinking only of filling myself with the noise
of you happening to me.
The moon, pulling at my silly strings
Throwing me into a humble puke
Of thoughts of you ruining me,
Curling my legs up to my face,
feeling the blush on my knees;
Holding me up into the oblivion
of the distance I could fall.
The sun finding focus,
through the branches of a tree
that sees too much
the entire world we’ve made.
Blurring shadows together,
Holding all that has fallen
in its light,
While sensitivity breeds.
and someone’s teeth on me
making a home of a stray mattress,
and all its ghosts.
Pulling me into
destructive defense mechanisms,
Giving me a black eye with my own knee.
(a very opposite of synchronocity.)
There are new eyes in my head
and “oh”, a smitten minty thing,
thrown into an adorable amount of fear.
Ive collected you
in my favorite bucket,
filled it to the brim,
with everything you’ve ever touched.
I carry it around
really slowly, really carefully,
it always threatening,
to spill out of my face.
But I catch you,
into my cupped hands
Tangle you between my fingers,
and drink you.
For the living,
It is like when you lose too much blood too.
Dizzy and blurry,
but mostly unaware.
Too fast, too slow,
to grasp the shift in alignment.
For the living too,
time is stretched,
mixing and melting together,
tangling the fractions
in our eyes;
and all at once,
but still present enough
to remain at the edge of an entire world,
At an edge
of life and death
I buried you six feet into my heart,
until you were in each pump,
in my veins, reaching to my fingertips,
Until you reappeared,
in trembles down my spine,
In a caress of words and pictures
that they create.
A tan of formlessness, sad and tickling,
Like in dreams where you have your back turned to me.
Rock a bye nausea, missing eyelashes for wishes,
yearned only from under a blanket,
heavy with the weight of mortality.
Please turn on the lights, I’m afraid of what my mind makes in the dark.
I am pulled into a pool,
before the realization that I’ve forgot how to float.
I am trying to remember how to be alone
-and without your hand again.
I am trying to find the pieces of me I’ve dropped everywhere,
but all I keep finding is pieces of you.
I am drowning in everything you’ve ever touched,
and starting to think you picked mine up as we went;
Im starting to think,
my pieces died along with you.
Sitting outside our window,
An ache lifts, while feeling close,
But still so deprived.
I’ve shrunken myself to make it enough,
to crawl onto the sill &make a blanket
out of the dust bunny memories,
and the still bugs that you can probably talk to now.
I have planted a tree out of season,
to take care of,
because I couldn’t take care of you.
I am determined,
to manipulate time,
turn the apples upside down,
get the juices flowing,
pour what’s left of me into the soil;
still giving all my energy to something
I don’t want to stop believing in,
My body tied to the earth with yours.
I haven’t spoken a word in weeks,
Besides the slow whispers,
into the in-betweens;
Searching afar off a sidewalk,
for anything familiar,
for a feeling,
of playing scrabble in hospital socks.
I tell you I want to understand the crickets,
ask what you would do if I started talking to you in chirps.
Would you understand me?
Maybe I’d be too whispery,
you wouldn’t hear me telling you,
how many degrees it is,
With each chirp,
You’d keep getting further away.
I have given myself to you,
because I can’t seem to do so anymore.
My spins are back,
and throwing me into open wounds,
wanting to see me
turn myself inside out.
Laying in an empty parking lot,
wearing nothing but a nosebleed trailing down my body,
and a detached sense of wonder,
falling back into my beginning
as a primordial soup.
There are bugs nestling into my hair
Reaching for the crumbs of you under my skin,
that have left an itch, unable to be soothed.
I am trying to get used to the taste
of coconut in my mouth,
while my heart is still under an umbrella
Can’t get past the gloss eyed film of dirt on everything.
A grocery list of sleepy things,
a feeble scrunch whimper thing
-in a backseat,
spitting stomach acids at predators,
and can speak to the dead;
I am talking to you, but looking at everything but you;
Cry into the sun, and everything glistens.
A girl like dim lighting,
holding the ominousity
in every corner,
like a light breathing over your shoulder.
Nibbles of static
and concrete burn under my ribs,
telling me my palms were meant to turn into trees,
carrying explosions with me everywhere I go;
“I hope one day somebody finds everything you’ve ever buried.”