12/28/10 backdated so no one reads it unless they're. digging.

so suddenly my room smells like you. which sucks. I mean I haven't been in love with you for two years now, and we haven't been friends for a little less than that, and I. Shouldn't remember how your room smells. I guess it smells kind of like starburst and burt's bees because that's what my room kind of smells like. I don't want to be your friend. I've been done trying to get you to understand what you did to me. I am not always done being hurt. Nearly three years is a really long time to beat yourself up over a person and it's even longer to have that person do really awful and manipulative shit to you. I don't want to engage you or talk to you or insert myself into your life again. Sometimes I read your blog but I never comment or leave things in your ask box or anything. I just feel ridiculous about it and close the tab and do something else.
you haven't affected me like this in a really long time.
I was never interested in getting revenge. dating Matt was just because I was dating Matt, I really liked him, I wanted to be with him. I never told him not to see you, too. It was like sharing or something.
but sometimes I'm fifteen, staring at my bookshelves as I let you tell me that I'm not really good enough. I get it. I understand. I know. You were definitely never as gay as me and probably were never gay at all.
my room smells like you and I want it to stop.


I hate you. Every time I see you I walk a little taller, hold my head higher, speak louder. I just want you to see how small you are, I guess.

What I'm trying to say is thanks. If you weren't so shallow, ignorant, and unwilling to change, my back would always be hunched when I walked past you.


I've gotten to the point in this stupid, stupid crush where I have genuine physical reactions to thinking about you. Just this evening, I saw your picture and my chest caved in.


bits and pieces

juvenile songs marked in letters too large:

I know she'd say,
you should take it back, plunge
the words into the throat
where they were born.
brambles like those won't touch my fingers again.
but I've finally
found something
more technicolor.

thin skin, blue,
riddled with veins,
battered, Napoleon's soldiers,
curled round the dinner table after a
long day at the office.
strong hands curl around full wrists,
subtle new blood making up for years of neglect.
an angel kissed her way down your spine,
and blessed you with the
of intentions.
you and I, the easiest small unit.


how full of love am I

Tea that refuses to boil,
steeped in cold.
(Will I have to ask to die? Will I?)
A cure for death in baby hands,
quick pedestals you can't control.

there's no time to be anything more than I am,
flighty and fighting.
Will you struggle into my hands?
Will you snarl at the last shreds of my skin?
The tears and tears and rips that bind me to you.
I will steal your death.
Take the tendons from my arms,
snap the cradle of my ribs,
draw veins open along my legs.
I will keep it for myself.

You never forget your first time.

One day I will shake your hand.
You will live forever.
Peter Pan.
My first and favorite vampire.

But after that first breach,
After the first exchange,
the first as each other's,
the very first bound exchange,

you should have realized you could never hold what I have to offer.

these pedestals will crumble,
the world will implode.
everything will crash into itself;
smaller and smaller,
inconceivable steps towards breaking.
the particles will become compact in a way they never were.
The Law of Conservation of Mass.
but in any case.

I will curl
my hands
into fists in my lap,
careful to say it back.
I do.
I love you too.
Quiet imaginings cannot change that.
My heart is yours.

Sorry, dude.
My bad.

A luckier man
would not have to wait for my
unlucky response.


where my mouth stumbles,
my spiking spidered handwriting never fails.
(and thus it never fails;
words from my mouth
are always too much for me.)
the fingers that cut a rug
with words I can't pronounce or say
are the same that twist,
useless in my lap,
when you're around.
skittering tools of hate
unprolific things
they itch with what I can't convey

sunbleached like bones

one glance, two,
towards a machine that never speaks,
sit silent against my clever tongue
such stark contrast when the tongue moves
shapes strong sibilants even in sleep.
The machine is quiet when you are, recently constantly.
waning in my stomach, dropping further down
bone dust tilting downwards as the heart chisels up
waxing in my chest
glorious but nothing new, nothing i didn't have before
i have waited for you for a long time
but it's nothing i can't handle for a few more years
new in the corner of my eye
shocks to the system--so this is what all of it was
no reason for me to avoid you except rejection

full throughout me
i have been given wings,
but i know not how to work them.
how can i be yours like this?


Telephone rings head turns toes curl
stomach rises
(The Sun Also Rises: maybe today is my day)
we are not strangers,
passing on the sidewalk.
I am not trapped in a tower,
vambraces versus embraces.
I am not a spider.
You are not trapped in my web
but you will not have me again.
(are you going? are you coming? are you)
last night I pulled the stars,
swirling, quiet, bright
out of the cadence of your voice
the noise
the loss of which deafened me
quietly shaking,
you told me of breaking
of taking
of making a life of what you had lost
(don't pity yrself,
you have fingers that press;
you have sonnets that scream--
sad suns, sums of several sons!--
stars burning in stovepipes,
and a voice that sweetly speaks.)
I am too afraid to be too in love,
and both lead to hate.
I'll wait
for some professor to
profess her
richness, more bold and indulging than I



when i thought you would leave,
harsh, empty words between us,
the moon moving too far,
fat in my window then gone,
i was relieved.

there is nothing so
harsh, empty,
as the realization that, this way,
my hand would be forced.
quiet touches--
brush your hair from your eyes--
but the moon hangs, content,
under the eaves of my porch.
but bitter,
knowing that i would end

up wasting you.
wishing for white dresses,
cloth the color of the moon,
as it moves quietly out of my sight.

you told me i was incredible.
for the first time,
once in all occurrences,
i believed the words
as they pushed past your teeth.
it is almost a shame,
knowing that you meant them, too.


I think I might always be lonely. I might as well allow it in on my own terms.


The First Annual Great Write-Off '09

Starting at midnight 1 August, the first (hopefully) annual Great Write-Off shall commence. This is a contest of sorts between myself and the wonderful, capable, talented Charlie J. Russell, from whom I stole everything you see here*. By midnight 1 September, she and I will have endeavoured to publish as many finished pieces as we can.

Da Rules:

1) Finished pieces may be of any length, as long as they are to the author's satisfaction. Few things are sadder than a beautiful poem stuffed with extra lines or whittled down to fit.

2) Non-contest pieces may still be published; Write-Off pieces will be published with the "write-off" tag. These pieces are to be counted at the end of the month.

3) One may publish old, previously unpublished work but the opponent reserves the right to scowl disappprovingly.

4) Tumblr entries are not official entries, as Tumblr hasn't any tags.

5) The contest ends at 12:00:00 a.m., 1 September.

6) The loser will buy the winner lunch at the establishment of the winner's choosing, or the winner may request a home-cooked delight (this must fall within the loser's skill range and the loser is not responsible for mad-difficult dishes.)

One of us is going down, and it won't be me.

*By "everything you see here," I refer only to this particular post. Just putting that out there.


I won't spare you

I think I've got a disease and
it's killing killing me,
from the top of my lungs to the bottom of my feet.
screaming screaming nonsense to nonentities.
I think I'm a parasite,
taking until you just won't give anymore;
too close for comfort but too heavily dependent to go.

I don't know how I will survive
the moon in my window,
just out of reach.
Tide's going out,
moon's waxing, waning, full and then empty again.
My blood's pulled around,
moved by the phases of you.
When the moon moves too far,
shifts away,
stops controlling the heat of my body,
how will I breathe?
How can I laugh,
without my blood stretched too thin?


body like mine wears out fast.


kissing other lips, but none as sweet as yours. eyes wise, wide open. overlarge teeth--mouth too small, tongue too wide. I am cataloguing all of me, bit by bit, compartmentalizing myself. placing my self, myself into boxes. (what comprises the self? what do you mean by the soul? what goes in, what stays out. what goes in stays out.) first goes the shining idealism, the words which keep me calm at night. the english language. all of the books that have sustained me. next to go is my memory of you, your shirts and your mouth and your hands. your fingers, too short, hands soft and warm: I will never need these again. mo memory of this will serve me as well as the real thing. in a different box is the thought of being unloved and lonely, a time when I was so selfish I forgot to let you breathe. that box gets my hatred, my bitterness, my fondness for another. the fourth box holds my music. this box is so fragile, handled with such care because it was not something I held myself for very long. the contents are slippery, shatter easily, quick to scratch. they can't hold themselves together as easily as my words, don't function as well without the beating of my heart. words stand alone, battered from sixteen going on seventeen years of use. words are something my own and all the same belonging to no one. music is held too close to me to be treated with the same lack of care in its handling. four boxes filled, carefully, with all of me, placed outside myself. "for rent" says the shell of what's left; conversation comes slow when only one party really exists. no one wants to hear about your day, so only ask about theirs. you can keep everyone happy if the focus isn't on you. no one needs to know how sick you're getting. what they don't know will only kill you.

god damn I am like king of the emo bitches. wtf.


plus juste que tu mérites
une main contre une main,
des dents contre ma peau
quand tu ne me repondre,
est-ce a cause de moi?
des mains oisives sont les ateliers du Diable
tes mains ne sont jamais oisives
la confusion--une affaire de les lettres
une affaire comme tes mains
(marie carie--la maladie ou la medecin?
je les falsifie, mais avec d'entraînement...)
ai-je faire croire tes mains?

une excersise


The slant of your teeth, the way you open your mouth to speak.

You spoke,
heartbroken, heady hymns of heavy hums.
When you spoke,
I went to kiss you
gentle brush of lips.
Mine on yours.
The last time
I felt this
was not with someone
(You opened your eyes...)
You opened your mouth,
watched as truth spilled out.
I overflowed with hope,
beamed at the chance to catch it
by chance,
would you listen to me cry?
Could you help me peoplewatch?
Can we stay around each other for hours,
not speaking
but not kissing either?
Could you go without it?

I cannot help but compare you to her, love. Long legs, short bodies. Stretched out hearts. Eyes as wide as I. I cannot bear to attach you to her in my mind, for fear that you will become as she was. I apologize to both of you, in advance, in hindsight, for hiding you away in secret places, especially when they weren't where you wanted to be. (even my hindsight falls short of twenty-twenty.) I want to waltz with you. I want to place my hands on your hips and feel something not quite unrequited. I want you to break my heart.

1056. It is not nice to be around me.
1057. It is not wise to be around me.
1058. It is not safe to be around me.
and thus it progresses. quiet quiet. it's too late to expect goodness from this soul.


one in the morning and i'm yearning
full mouths are for yawning
empty hands for drawing
half-eaten hearts for scorning

two in the morning i'm tired
walking the tightrope electric, inspired
insipid incognizant liars
quagmires, sticky situations where I'm always trapped

three in the morning I hope I'm dreaming
leaning too far, picturing your eyes gleaming
i'm fleeing
but i hope you'll figure out that I always get what I want.

my skin looks at me, says,
"this isn't art,"
"you miss him too much,"
"i'll miss you so much."

hairs on my chest stand up stand erect waiting for me to fall
banking on my sleep
but sleep is for the weak,
for the week
and it's still maybe the weekend
sleep is for when i work, when i function
when for every you there is only one me
y's and x's
exes and ohs


sleep is for when i'm _____.
what's a five letter word for delirious?
what's a five letter word for joy?


This song always makes me cry.

I insist on listening to it over and over again, though, because I'm ridiculous. The three of them did a really good job of this, for an unprofessional performance of the song for a class.


I love the concept of this video. Various people were interviewed and it was then animated in the zoo. I love it. The jaguar is, of course, my favorite--"I need-a the space!" Nick Park is a genius. The highlight is when the smallest polar bear asks if her father enjoys lion steak as well as regular steak; this is a clear conclusion for a small child who had perceived the conversation as being strictly about the zoo, but an embarassing moment for her mother (who truly has no right to be embarassed, because she has trouble making her point or even forming a sentence when she tries to assert that animals should be confined in the zoo--"I think it's much better to be in, um...bars, because, um..." at about 2:56).

A while ago I lost all of my Meg & Dia, but I have (some of) it back! The Great Computer Crash of 2007 and the Second, Smaller Loss of Data of 2008 continue to thwart me, even months after they occured. >[ life.

My dad shared with me some excellent music. I'm really enjoying Pete Yorn, because he's a really solid songwriter, and Sugarcubes, because Bjork. Carla Bruni's first album, Quelqu'un M'a Dit, is just as enjoyable as a whole as the last song ("La Derniere Minute") AND as her sophomore effort (No Promises, the lyrics of which were all--mostly? idk--Anglophone poems). Check all three artists out or die.

I will start writing again. I will start writing again. I will start writing again. I'm working on a story. For once, I'm hoping this will go somewhere.



It is now eighty-one minutes past the start of the day. For sixty whole seconds, I thought of nothing but you. And I would have jumped at the chance to savor 00:00 with you tonight, would have fought to be there just for sixty seconds, had I known that without you midnight is just midnight. I think the countdown would taste amazing on your skin. The delight would mold itself to my hands, like maybe your hip bones would. You could tap the seconds into my hand. Our fingers would lie warm together in your hoodie pocket. I have become far too invested in this.

My tongue rests behind my teeth. My fingers fall carefully to the keys. My words sit heavy in my lap.

You are the rose I will ask for.


my name is will will the tin soldier (will the tin soldier please...?)

the boy in the courderoy jacket can't be too warm kindred spirits!i am not either. he reminds me of you (even though all you share is the pronoun and the jacket)
and he will never know that three days later i think about his red chilled cheeks teeth clenched against the cold and fists braced in his pockets. just like you will never know how close i came how close i would let myself get to you

my skull is falling apart i'm out of painkillers and it's too late to go to the store. my hair clings to my head like sleep to my eyeballs and if i'm a puzzle i'm missing a few crucial pieces

would you tell me?
i will never dust off the puzzle in the corner it has too many missing end pieces. you will never blow the dust off the good book because you can't be bothered to read more than a little.

people ask me all the time what's the date and what's the time and my internal clock's so screwed i couldn't even answer you when you asked if time's a lake or just a river with no end
i want to take a hammer to a watch and watch the cogs spring out and off quartz fingernails on leather jackets diamond ink in empty packets sand in digits hot and loose but you in me too far and close (how close how close?)

could you give me more than that? you're just yourself til you loan it. you're just a sheep so let's clone it. a name's a name but i own it. shakespeare said it best but maybe i'm no rose, just a closed mine closed mind

will you tell me a lie?

i stand on one leg a toy soldier or a crane and i'll empty rivers in pursuit of you mine is an honorable task and how could it be anything else when i stand so sharp and handsome in my tattered tin uniform?


it will find you.
love follows you home.
your word was too sharp,
pushes too hard through my teeth:
pushes to break.
you had a promise to keep,
the weak
the week of my worry got too close, too close.
i can't breathe without you.
you won't follow me down.
you will not follow me home.


if they cut me wide wide open,
they would still find your fingerprints
like track marks
bruising me perfectly:
tattoos on my retinas from your smile,
engravings on my teeth from your kiss.
if we were keeping score,
they'd base it on your handprint on my hip
on the secrets in my knees
on the guesses it takes for me
to figure out what's in your pockets.
you're no Bilbo, but you'd still be ahead
they'll say one! two! three!,
fast and empty
and we both know i will let you win.
if we were a fairytale,
you'd be offering me a pomegranate.
It would only be a moment before i let you in.
i'd watch the light play off your face
and we'd both know i'd take it before you got bored.

if i could show you one more time,
see your imperfect and beautiful features,
your large, strong, knobby fingers,
the way your smile lingers,
view all of it through a possesive lens
(but not the type that comes without true possession),
if i could have that one more time,
no candles or romance,
just you, one more time,
i think i'd be satisfied.


i'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter

i'm flatting all my fifths
i'm giving up your myths
I'm collecting all my tithes
little grains of rice

i'm going back to bed.



the only thing more socially inept than you is me.

old. discovered on myspace of all places.

we are the last stand
and i smell you everywhere i go.
your fingers like spiders across my web of little white lies lie awake and stare at the ceiling feeling empty feeling whole feeling holy. i am so tired but i can't close my eyes.if i only think in numbers will you let me close my eyes? if i only dream in colors will you kiss my sleep goodnight?
i am so glad i think in nonsense.
sleep is upon us (knock-knock-knocking on my god damned door).
good night, moon.


i am no decoy

rose pedals, bike petals
flowers in the street
on the sheets
will the real hartbreaker please stand up?

she's got an empty bottle and a sore throat,
walking past the elevators
she looks at the sky and shouts,

only it comes out garbled and cold
she's cold.
but she won't go to sleep until sunshine fills her cells.
She wants to glow.
She wants the glow.
Incandescence is her greatest goal.

i am the water under your bridge.
i am the dirt under your nails
(because there's always dirt under your nails)
i will always be here,
orbiting you
revolving and resolving and recalling shit that has never ever happened
who's gonna burn you?
who will tear you down?

i am invincible, whereas you are vulnerable.
you rely on me.


why would you give that much of yourself?
it's an impossibility--i'm someone else
as i dangle the car keys in front of your eyes
"oh no, not today. that brake will be my demise."
my name's close to mary keychain on your heart
an instrument's a long way from making art
i'll hit the button (where's the god damned nurse?)
my televised contract soliloquy curse
i can't wait forever
i will taste it on your skin (your skin your skin)

hope kills me and keeps me alive like a drug like a drip like electricity running through my veins. i reek of the bright side. i draw castles in the air like they'll sweep me away, magic sulfuric fires of aspiration with a longing stench and a lethal, slow burn. it's telling how i can't tell you. this thing with feathers will torture me indefinitely.

for once i'm writing from someone else's perspective. empathy means none of these emotions were mine.


i'm a big fan of fake it til you make it

why would you give that much of yourself?
going to see a man about some pills. soon. later. sooner rather than later.

i want to bathe in it. i want my lips to bleed with it. i want my veins to empty and refill with it. i think i could survive on it. like a vampire. love would be my only sustenance.

someday i will close my eyes and not see you on my lids. someday i will open them and i won't be disappointed when i don't see your face.

i think about it all the time.


the thing mme shows said was spectacular :DDD

les autres filles qui disent avec celui, elles ne voulent dire pas cela qu'elles disent.
je ne suis pas celle pour toi, je sais. je ne suis pas que tu as pensé.
ils ont pas idée;
et comme chaque mot je parle tu es de moins en moins mon garçon.
il y a une grande quantité que tu ne sais pas.
(ainsi ne dis pas que tu sais, ne dis pas que tu sais!
je n'aurai pas ta mensonge sur mes mains.)
y-a-t'il rien que tu n'as perdu?
mais moi, la dauphine du territoire que tu as pris--
ma coeur! très seduisant, très vide--
je ne sais pas la moitie de ce que, j'assume.
que mes baisers deviennent les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas:
nous embrasserons de nouveau et de nouveau et de nouveau.
et tu sais, cela m'a choqué en amour,
quelque chose comme un millier de volts.
Ce n'est pas poesie.
C'est un priere.
Ne fais pas cette erreur.
(Mais je fais ces erreurs de nouveau et de nouveau et de nouveau...)

text dump.

see SHE wears a lot of black and white
equates love to beauty
day to night
SHE takes what SHE thinks SHE needs,
ignores what SHE needs for weeks
SHE threw the word Neglect
to the wind!--
left it for recklessness.

SHE knows where the line is
and SHE
knows how to cross without getting caught
are you breathing?

don't be so unkind:
I recall you told me forever,
above all.
Above all,
we touch like ghosts do
evening lights on morning dew
give it up before HE gets your goat
(live it up live it up give IT up).

my hands cartwheel
and pinwheel
across my chair
flowers in your hair
scuttle into your lair
you dip your finger in
and give
me what you can't afford to.
hide my hands
and leave
me to my own devices
you have left me for empty
left me on empty
who will be your next willing husk?
my predeliction for prediction has thrown everyone off.
you are too per-per-perfect.

you are such a smooth talker
snakes in yr mouth
and mirrors
on yr tongue
i am less than a gentleman,
you said
(you didn't look at me but i knew,
but more than yr hypocrisy.

i'm always so scared my password won't work

oh, this is the end.
oh, this is the beginning
empty empty me
poor little rich girl
hair in her eyess and
empty empty tragedy
in her hands
life is what you make of it
(if life is what you make of it
then how do you make it?)
i am so decisive without you.
i am so emptyempty without you
do you fal asleep at home and wish i was there?
because i fall asleep alone and wish that you cared.
do you wake up cold?
do you wake up?
my atoms quake and shiver around you,
buzzing for contact that will inevitably
in two, into a million tiny pieces
oh! how I wish you weren't kidding
how i wish i were brave,
maybe i could tell you how the sky matches your eyes
(clear and bright and blue and heartbreaking)
i could grab your hand and kep it close
our atoms could quake and shiver together
i had you. how did I keep you? when did I lose you?
houston, we have a problem.


this tastes so different from what i remember, secrets melting on my tongue and words rising from my stomach in little churning waves like bile. you should know i never expect this to work. you should know that i'd rather offer my own empty words than watch you hunt desperately for yours (are they under my bed, are they in with my skinmags, did i leave them in the car) but i can't dig any up for you--maybe if you'd let me find some real ones, some consolation, some purchase on this steep steady slope i could--

everything i do is empty.


so won't you help a brother out out out out out

i cannot wash you away from me
you will not slough off of my skin
you will not touch me again

so give me a rainstorm
and give me snow
go have a heart attack
don't let me know

kyrie kyrie kyrie

my name is unwhole
my name is heartbreak
my name is something close to rocks on your windshield
it's clear the crash wasn't your fault

hey! do you remember when you cracked the glass?
your hand hit and kept going
your hand hit (an open wound)

how does your garden grow?
with lies and false enthusiasm and intonation

my stomach churns when i see you
my eyes burn when i see you
my fists curl when i need you

feels like i gave you my spine mr. unwhole and mrs. unholy
empty empty bottles
empty pretty words
give me more more more
i can smell you everywhere i go
i can taste you when i close my eyes
if you asked, the answer would probably be yes

don't you dare ask



I am less alone than I was before.


metacognition gets me hot and then leaves me cold

the average speed of an ejaculation is 28mph.

your little deaths are empty wins and heavy losses
goals to reach before you die
a list
and when you pride yourself on extreme adjustment
the change needed to become anything at all
it's what you make versus what you leave
how do you leave it behind?
when is enough not enough?

there are tiny screams that say youll leave me behind
when all that's left of you is Xs and Os, i will be long gone
and i will ask the world to be quiet with a finger to my lips
i will need time to think about your hand against my forehead
hot like a fever
when one's faults outweigh one's defenses,
what's left?
where am i supposed to go from here?
this empty space ive discovered and kept for my own

and when you pride yourself on extreme adjustment
the change needed to become anything at all
it's how you leave versus what you made
when did you have the chance?
you simply can't avoid it.

and we ran forever
arm in arm
demanding the world bend around us
shaping it to our specifications
and leaving what we didn't want behind
it was a victory everyone regretted
i was at once whole and discordant again
in his arms
in yours
the cold chafing my arms and the love keeping me warm

and this overwhelming pride in your adjustment
in the changes you made to become something else
showed me how you made it and what you left
and that you didn't have a choice
it was gone somewhere around "one day"

when you blink and suddenly the world has changed and you are grown
we'll run arm in arm
just like we did
and the world will whisper,
dance with us
as we jump into our own heads
our convoluted and seperate futures