my mother opens her chest
and tells me god put a gun
there for when he comes back,
i protest the right to carry
outside the city lines
even though i've been
hurt too:
her wine cabinet tastes like
retribution and hope,
her red 4 days old open seal
tastes like ******* ****
20 minutes later,
when it's just me, the dog,
and a lukewarm drink.
don't put ice in wine. i've
learned this.

you know, i don't even
pick up bibles when
i'm ****** up? i cry
into tarot cards that
are vague and lack
comfort and pages
and pages
and pages
of lackluster
fake sunshine

water to wine to water again

my dad's the alcoholic,
nice ******* try,
big guy,
you're not
even speaking-
i have a dissociative
disorder, *******,
try me when i'm
feeling less real
istic.

blind date
with my college
career, i ask them
what they plan on
doing with their
degree and i get
a shudder  and
an exorcism
all in one
breath:::
                 i'm trying my best.

i come from a city of sleeping
ghosts that do not remember
where they were born: i keep
raw honey in the attic of my
mother's mother's funeral
home so somehow they
will learn to be bittersweet -
i only need them when
i'm craving tea, i think i'll
die before learning to sleep
without flowers and sugar
pressed to the cave of my mouth
as a raven hiding from
man's shadow
and the
night.

oh, baby, i'm not suicidal anymore -
touch me with your hurt, taste me
with your fire tongue, **** me with
your sober inhibition, love me until
you can do nothing but stutter my name
as you come down from how happy you've
always wanted to be:

always another party,
you breathe in city lights
and stars until life
gives you something
i just can't ::
          confetti and
          bittersweet
          memory mold
          to a holy white
          in the gutter
           of my lungs.
           i can taste it
           when i
           breathe.

always another party
i'm inside
always

show me you love me
in a dream you can't
control, we collect crystals
and give each other tarot
readings - but i always
wonder what you are thinking,
laid out between judgement
and queens in my pink floral
bedsheets. not real, i'm
seeing it all the same.