I want you too close,

I want my guard down so you can ruin me

and I can run the streets displaying whats left of my chest hanging, saying

look who loved me, look who loved me once.

I want to make a big mistake getting

this close to your hungry face

I want you to

rot my teeth, burn my stomach

like the alcohol I drink

I want to stop drinking it when it makes me forget.

to remember is pain, but

it means you touched me and

any way you touch me

is good.

i like to stand in front

of the mirror

stand up/sit down/stand up/sit down

and watch the light die in my own eyes.

fasinating,

that buzz

of human consciousness before the deafening crack

the string

of tightness in our chest-

stretch stretch snap

the psychedelic colors,

my blood

like lsd bouncing blue blue black

bars open near me/how to win someone

back/convenience stores

open past midnight/symptoms of depression/places

open at 3 am/why does my

chest hurt/can you buy xanax online/map

directions to home/bars open near home/how

long is a direct flight to paris from la/what stops

vomiting/how to quit your job/what

is legally considered assault/how to learn

another language fast/why do my arms

feel numb/plane tickets to europe/how much

vodka is lethal/getting over someone/how to

start liking being alive/healing bruises fast/

how much tylenol for a migraine/best guide to europe/how to stop loving someone/best way

to change your life/tattoo shops near me/which painkiller is strongest/what bars open earliest this morning

all these years

of being alive,

and i am struggling to put something

to words, to express

whatever this

ache is. an untranslatable language,

who will understand?

all these years

to push it through

the pores of my

fingertips or

between my breathing.

i am tired,

so tired.

A friend once told me that several times throughout the day, we humans experience a form of pain that our brains register as mild enough that we just have to sort of quickly touch the afflicted spot to feel better. We call this pain an itch.

I wonder if my addiction is an itch too. The pain begins, mild enough at first. I rush for the closest, most preferable vice. And the itch goes away for a time.

What I want to know, doctor, is do humans really stop being itchy or do we just not notice it once the skin has been scratched raw? When will I stop desperately reaching for distractions to fill the time in between when I feel dead?

Better yet, doctor, was the itch ever really there or do our brains fabricate it? Am I the one causing myself to spiral to death and back like this, and it's all in my head?

And, doctor, what happens if we scratch an itch too much? How far can I go without being too far gone?

she was standing at the kitchen counter

cutting fruit with a heavy knife and

listening to the beegees,

she was caught up staring out the

window after something invisible

humming with faltering breath and

shoulders weighed down and

it made me wonder suddenly if

long ago my mother had ever been

something other than a mother.

i stand at a gas pump on a monday night

momentarily forgetting altogether how to put gas in a car

because

for a brief moment, i thought i heard my father

calling me home for dinner off the playground swings,

decades ago.

i wanted to say

i love you finally

but

it didn't come out

that way

just

a gasping noise like

i ran out of words

and air

he didn't take

the time to wait

until i could breathe again

he left,

and with him,

all my love

it ended like this, my

words were stolen

and i was left

silent like

a hazy

grey ghost

with empty eyes and

mouth, he took

everything

all the

i hate yous i want yous

and i love yous

he took

everything

i wanted to say

I want to.

take you on a date.

to the grocery store.

so we could sit on the just-mopped shiny floor

in front of the seafood section.

we'd sit in front of the lobster tank

and watch two of the little red guys

fight with black bands around their claws.

we could both bet on a lobster, and

whoever won got to pick out

a donut at the fly-infested donut counter.

who wants to?