poem: nice people are always liars

the boy in the undead years cuthis age in half by the ageof girls he findsscalps, vulnerability is a bitch, like sex all over your hands. the toyko girl is suicidalfor fun, she plays moshi-moshi handgames handgrenades paparazzi do you wanna befamous somebodyloved? the boys find herat bridges, drippingher wet cuniversal righteous nothing, we arefragile…

poem: bad free verse attempting to explain

the old words and adages arestale; and yetwe all blaze up, in unison,whenever there isa chance. one million rooms, foaming with m/f violent music; writing to panic attack hangoversand mythical cigerette smoke. they laytogether, in the afterhe came into the room with the snowflake-coldand she blazed up. twenty-five years later she fucksa different man, the…

poem: the battle of

again again again and howin muddy, half-trudged stepsregains the hold, the menfall— down— and i cannot complain. i have instead disorder, mindhell sparks, all orange-pillcontained. once, theydied in droves and now i die alone, on the upstairsbed my face againstthe shrills. you must know:he is not returning: heis not worth attention,deflection, call it crush— in…

poem: the winter girl and the sunset boy

the winter has me wishingthat you and iwere still something; do you remember two years ago(two centuries of yesterday) i was desperate and drowningin idealism, in pacifiedanxiety, andglowing newintellectualism at midnight and dawnand also love poems, written for youmainly on the coffee datewe almost had:the old me, studying hard,too-hot latte in hot handscaffeine sparking slow…

poem: boring afternoon depression

some questions for today: when did my image consume my soul? and how the fuck did i end up the 'good girl'? can we return to the before—when he was still a mystery, when i did not make hell into a casual routine; crying in your room alone to my chemical romance is so seventeen;…

poem: even the expressionists could not capture it

he has become worth a great many things—she reflects in the mirror, waiting for him, trying to think how to explain: I feel calmer this time, but everything is more extreme. I am crashing into myself with a neck- breaking speed before only reserved for the real breaking of necks, when pretty girls fall from…

poem: suicide is metaphor

she is leaning out the window, considering— the view. she cannot hang here forever, she will either step away and keep the sky a separate god or she will lean into the inevitable, her fingers splitting in the air her head smashing into damp pieces. her skull is a throbbing lump hanging on a broken…

poem: young love is a horror flick

I will make you my let-down song; so that when you are stuck in my head— I am sitting on the edge of swimming pools my feet in the water, the water going red. it's not blood—don't worry, this is not another sadistic, sardonic poem. it is only pink nail polish, melting in the water,…

poem: strangers three nights apart

she has made monsters and villains where there are none, where it should only be a boy and a girl. she is sitting in a shrinking place, watching the house lights dim and his shoulders fold like glass, crushing and crashing into all the Damning, as he leans into the nightscape window and counts the…

poem: therapy is cheaper when you’re in a relationship

I really must not pin hope on people who do not (yet) exist; one day, he might want to lean over the table and hold my eyes and hear the personal hell but in the tight space between 60 seconds and one minute, we are still nothing; he does not care about the damning things…