so this is me and you, and him, and even her sometimes,
in moments when we lose ourselves to the prying eyes of everyone we know to love,
and holy shit, wouldn't it be good to come home?
I think I found myself in the way you always want to get out, and I like to think you found yourself amongst my guitar string scars. and everything is so bad so often ( Read more... )

I'm a mosaic of every little thing I loved through middle school, carrying around the growing pains I never grew out of. talks like a fall out boy. thinks like a chemical romance. feels like a nirvana. bleeds like a hole. looks and seems and chokes on words like the one who gets picked last. looks and seems and stumbles on eye contact like the ( Read more... )

I'm my best friend's second friend, I'm my father's dreaded obstacle. And I'm so sleepy, and it's all the damn time. I'm sorry I'm never quite awake. I'm sorry no matter how much caffeine or pills or naps or walks I take, I'm sorry I'll never feel as okay as you do. I'll never feel as okay as you do.

throat burning without any whiskey around,

some of my dead grandfather's habits I couldn't pick up.

there's a message from you I didn't reply to.

I've reread it multiple times and I just can't get myself to write something. I don't know.

I used to be very eager to talk to you, though. Something must've happened.

something along the lines of how ( Read more... )

sunny summers and their somber outcomes that cast shadows upon my face, every season is summer in this town; I walk my little brother to the subway and we say nothing. we had a stupid fight before leaving home.
and everything burns, from the bottom of my shoes to the tips of my eyelashes, and it sucks, but it's all we've ever known. our city's ( Read more... )

this year's cut me off mid-sentence and run off with the punchline, like a sibling who leaves your bedroom door open. what a bumpy ride. I can barely recall who I've been.
here's to the neverendingness of should have beens - like Morrissey should have been a Marxist, Wilde should have remained uncensored and I should have bought a darker dress.
here' ( Read more... )

you're like scary names for pretty flowers. acting like you're the heretic on fire but you wield your guilt like a baroque. you envy death and you fear it. the duality of a Caravaggio that makes your eyes roll.
and if I'm from Neptune, you're from Mars - or maybe one of those Pluto boys who stay in the dark side of the sun, taking walks through pale ( Read more... )

what the fuck is it called when I don’t love you and it creeps me out when you do
but it freaks me out when you rehearse loving anyone else and reverting your undying attention to someone who might reciprocate it?
Ophelia meets Narcissus and they fight to death on a friday night. whoever bleeds out first gets to choose who gets the crown. your ( Read more... )

of the things about me I did not pick,
or the puzzle pieces of my face.
like my father's muddy eyes
but they water like my mother's
and I struggle to see what truly belongs to me.

I don't want to want to be you (I feel like I should)
I don't want to want to forgive you (like all of them do)
I don't want to want to be near you
not ever not now,
and I don't.
( Read more... )

my mother's counting calories again. there are only wrong answers on my tongue. ten years from the apocalypse and we still haven't gathered the wreckage of what we once were, so why bother? I tiptoe. you waltz. summer sails away trapped in decaying slumber.