this is how i get you to give up the ghost. this is how i know you've given up the ghost. there's a smile on my face and a dove in my hand, pretending that we've found peace. and this gash in the bottom of my face, the one i can call a smile, grows wider and wider. it does a good job of swallowing the messes i make. why so quiet? we both know how terrified you were when you saw me with my hands outstretched.we both know i'll beat you at your own game any day of the week. i can beat you at any game. do not try to run. do not try to hide. resistance is futile and we're each of us aware that you could never hide as well as i could find you.

this is the squirrel stash tucked in your sock drawer

watch me walk
always a step ahead versus running away
no,
i never know what you want
write it down, and
let me be your latest fascination
because you sound so young
and i feel so old
she blinks like a fawn
fawns
big eyes wide smiles
smiles at the mirror
at the sex he thinks he can exploit
He struggles with himself,
looking for a new reason to exist
and her--new her; take that how you like--
her french isn't as good as it used to be.
keep up!

are you lost yet?

now he--new he--sings at dawn

because if he can control the sky,

make it brighter by degrees, if he

feels like he has control over that,

then it almost eclipses how she's not in his nest anymore.

her karma's about as good

as the corner where she's standing.

the offers she's getting.

can't a girl get a Break?

not everyone's selling Sex.

she pulls her skirt down,

hopes it'll eventually cover her knees.

not missing any work

sweetness, we're falling asleep now.
are you coming to bed? are you coming--
so now we're in your window,
eyeing the cake your mother made
frosting flowers all across the top, and if
i could just get out--if you would let me out--
i would run across them,
make them as real as your smile.
while you hold the cause of the pills i haven't
been prescribed yet above my head.
straighten out your sheets, because no mother would approve of what we just did.
will you remember what we just did?
did you come to bed yet? did you come--
you've made your bed
now we're both going to sleep in it.
like the crow that hit your windw
and yours
and yours
and yours.
(tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...)
we're running away from one margin but only getting
closer to the next,
and i'm dotting my eyes and crossing my tees
so that you may do whatever you please.
don't tease
(and soon the lease
on our relationship will be up;

you can leave.)

que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas.

you see, it shocked me into love
something like a thousand volts.

a year ago she could pick herself apart and destroy herself,
no problem,
and now all she's got is
a lie and a dusty box in the back of your closet.
leaves are tumbling down, down, down, across the river, and did you hear?
she can walk on water.
she hung the moon
and
the stars,
and still had the time that night to sleep.
did you hear?
well, she's YOUR daughter.
empty slaughter with a cherry on top that looks like an excuse.
see, she pulls off her kneecaps sometimes and digs down inside her legs so she can find the secrets she hid there.
check the news--check the weather--check yourself.
stop lying
start putting those talents of yours to use.
she's a high-class whore
and she doesn't want to grow up,
no sir.
she stole your death,
snapped out her tendons,
and pulled out her ribs to feel something real,
without experiencing any consequences.
the aching in your ankles is an empty allusion to an
older
pain.
take my reason,
make it treason.
(but you know you'll leave some
for the ones who want it.
wasn't it always that way?)
she only caters to what she wants;
she's not used to being alone.
she'll erase the words that you wrote first
and paint them across the walls she hates.
she only wants what she can't have.
she left you breathless once she found a way to steal it back.
she hates shoes.
she hates rain.
she hates herself.
she'll go out in style.

I picked my way through the wreckage and realized that you're beautiful, in a roundabout sort of way.
Sober you up--this is where I stand now.
You threw your lemonade in my face months ago and now I'm kissing your bruises all better.
Whambamthankyouma'am and I can['t] get over this myself.
For once, I'd like to defy ourselves instead of defining ourselves, but I know that's wholly unattainable.
I thought about perception,
and then I thought about me,
and then I thought about you.
[must be a Tuesday]
This isn't about who you'll think it's about.
My battery just died a little bit more and I want outoutout.
All I want to see is the insides of my eyelids.
And maybe I should hate you for this,
But maybe it doesn't really matter.
Heartsstarsandclovers and I'm fallingfalling.
Four and twenty blackbirds,and I'm flying again.
I hate everything you do to make me feel at ease.
The silence is deafening
And I'm once again expressed by a series of
Ones (1)
And Zeros (0)
010010001000010000010000001
And on and on and on.
All I want to do
Is kiss your fingertips
And make you feel okay.
The more you talk about it, the more in love I fall,
But that may be a misleading pronoun.
Never ask, never tell.
Hold off your bets now.

You opened your eyes—
And out fell the sky.
Straight into my lap. I was shocked.
It was hopeless and broken,
But endless.
I tried to count the stars,
But kept getting distracted.
By small things, you know?
Like the smattering
Of freckles
Across the bridge of your nose.
The shadows that
Danced
Down your cheeks
Each time you blinked.
The way you
Refused
To look at me
Until I wasn't looking at you;
Refused,
Unless I was
Staring
Out of the window,
Pretending to Glance
At the pharmacy across the way.
But really,
I was watching you,
Watching your reflection,
Watching you
watching me.
I could have cried.
"Are our eyes our own?"

Breathing quickens,
But the heart stills.
Tears spill.
Your thoughts, your words hold one thousand different meanings,
And each one leaves me stunned.
Leaves me shunned.
I’m shamed and ashamed.
Our rhythm, our voices, our cadence—
They leave no room for me.
Each time you smile, my heart breaks and melts and stops, all at once.
I don’t begrudge you anything.
You know all this already.
Watch as I smile through it all.
I’m so pathetic.
But a good liar.
Go for a walk.
Try not to sob.
Try not to sing too loudly.
Stop myself from calling you.
Convince myself it’s all okay.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Lather-rinse-repeat.
Lather rinse repeat.
Latherrinserepeat.
You get the point.
All I am is repetition.
Contradiction.
Research.Inspiration.
I’m getting off topic.
I could care less.
This is happy.
This is the face of happy, and I’ve never been more malicious in my sarcasm.
Every word that I bite back sidles down my throat.
Hot and venomous.
Le mort petit.
Except, really, it’s not.
Slugs. I’m swallowing hot, primordial swamp slugs.
I’ve never felt more in tune with myself.
I’m dying, slowly and painlessly.
It’s simultaneously the best and worst feeling in the world.
Hey, look, it’s every lie I told, every half-truth I believed.
All I need is my name on your lips, please.
Tell me what I want to hear?

I'm the tears, falling down your cheeks when you feel you need attention, the callouses on your fingers you think nothing of sloughing off.
What happened to pride in ones work?
I've made a habit out of waiting up for you.
It's not hard to fall back into an old pattern.
For a while this was all I knew.
I'm well-learned and scholarly in the art of pining after you.
It's like riding a bike.
Who am I, you ask?
I don't even know anymore.
Ask me later.
I forget.
This frustration with myself can only wear so thin before the fabric rips altogether.
My proverbial clothes are falling apart from the acidic self-loathing I keep so close to my heart.
I could never stay mad at you.

I'm shakingshaking, wound and wired.
My heart is heavy and feet are tired.
Home, home, home again. I miss the world, I miss my friends.
Shackles, prison, ball and chain. Bars on windows and your name.
Save me, save me, dear desire. Deadline's here, down to the wire.
Change is needed, change is good. I'm wanting you more than I should.
Charts all tell me all my wages. Pretty lines on pretty pages.
I'm suffocating on myself, and all this amounts to is how much I need you.
I don't know. I'm pretty much incoherent, but aren't I always?