You stab me in the back with a knife,
and I apologize for bleeding on it.

Screen time
We need to have
Essential
Moments of mandatory misery
Grasping, tugging emotions
Un-liked, ignored emoticons
The puffed-green faces of ourselves
Dot
The landscape and portraits of
Screens
Screaming at, about, into
The refined, together
Socially happy selves
That we would be, should be
If we abide broadcast expectations
Joyful, complete, happy, helpful
Free…
We are not
Not always
Precisely completed
Or so
These moments
Remind us
With beautiful
Misery

Darling if you were a noise you'd be static sound

There's a pinprick on each of your knuckles on one hand and I think I can hear you say they're for weekdays of guilt.

You're saying you'll scratch out "sorry" on your palm and press it on everything you own so the blood stains leave their mark.

You think the world is much easier to live in if you don't have to apologize with your lips.

“Don’t take too many pictures of the same thing,” you snapped once but it was only because you wanted them to see the sky turn from pink to orange for themselves and not on glossy paper. It was almost like you were saying sorry to the sky.

You watched something funny once and I remember you kneeling over with your face in the carpet. I thought you were laughing until you refused to get up hours later and I saw tears seeping through the fabric and realized you were begging on your knees.

You stand by the glass window, your eyelashes catching the light with your eyes downcast. You do that every time you think you cannot tell the difference between being ruthless and pretending you don’t care.

I remember the day you stood across and finally looked right at me with your black eyes and your gritted teeth, your breath steadied in patterned gulps, your hands hanging down the sides of your hips.

Your biggest apology was this stone cold silence.

you never told me the truth you never told me that i was toxic to the touch you never said that every time you ran your hand through my hair it tangled your mind up until all you could think was static
the kind of static that hums,
you could call it beautiful,
but only if you're ******* crazy
--
i think i'd like plants on my bedstand because then when i'm sleeping, maybe my mind will travel into the flowers maybe my thoughts will grow into something worth writing down

You are magic and I am the stuffed bunny ******* pull out of hats, making the audience assume it's alive
I am the girl guys pretend to cut in half, I am the props and the dummies
I am the illusion
But you are magic