sometimes love leaves you
aching;
longing, for something
your fingers can’t touch,
and your mind can’t identify.

sometimes love leaves you
hungover;
blackout nights/headache in the a.m,
can’t move, your body’s heavy and
last night’s a blur.

sometimes love leaves you
poetry;
lines and lines of whispers,
words that you can only
give to 11:11 wishes, and midnight.

sometimes love(rs) leave;
going like a vagabond,
wanting none of your time,
the ache in your chest
throbbing.

they tell you to play the game
but you hate it

it’s breaking your spirit
and you want to get out
of your head
but at least there you feel like
no one can get you.

or well
that’s what you thought.
you thought that
if you stayed in your mind
you’d be fine
but it betrays you

intelligent
existential
no good
get OUT of my head

please just get out of my head

A downtown
queen,
She finds solace in being
seen.
The loneliest of
birds,
she doesn't like it when
these feelings are
stird.
Would it have helped
if I had more
beauty?
Four foot something,
but I don't like myself
with dark hair.
Would it have helped
to have been a little more,
or a whole lot more,
trusting?
I'm sorry,
I know it's a continues
recycling of things that
didn't, doesn't, and
never will matter.
But memories, ideas
and impossible dreams
like to come back as waves
in the form of
dark blue scatter.

blood-stained melancholia
whitening strips for her thoughts
black
diffusers for her insides

you can make tea out of
the anxiety in her stomach
but no amount of honey
will make it sweet

waiting/sunrise/flushed cheeks/bliss