it’s not nearly as romantic as you’d thought; watching the world burn
having it crumble under the weight of your gaze
          but here we are, the lucky ones beneath the gallows,
                                and we’ve got front row seats to the end of
    the earth itself.
this acrid, unbreathable smoke is in my
        eyes and
        ears and
        lungs and  slowly pumping through my
        blood
                     can you taste this desperation when we kiss?
    am i the only one who feels this
           sitting on cinders like it’s the hood of my car
  and wishing we could see through the haze?
i’ll miss the noise, the feel of
    cities rushing
    two-lane highways brushing along my
                 well-worn and weary tires
and you’ll miss none of it, none at all
                                                 because you’re dead
                               and you’re difficult and he’s wearing your face but
it doesn’t matter. none of it does.
  kiss me again to drown out the screams. i want another
          shot at life, but it won’t happen now:
    another car, another motel,
another rushed fumble out of our borrowed ties and IDs and lives
                  but all i’ve got is you and your coffee’s getting cold.
                          you’re not him but i can pretend with my
                      eyes shut -
                                         just don’t leave me with the wreckage.
you are my morningstar
                                 and i’m haunting you with life.

your hands were smooth in california but i miss them
rough, on mine, in toledo
and in far-off colorado where you decided
you wanted to learn how to ski
and i sat moody at the bottom until you flew down
to meet me,
and we swapped warmth and tongues and promises
because flying with you is the only way i’d ever let my feet
leave the ground.
and your palms were scraped and charred in california but
three years ago to date they were flat on my
chest when we moved together - in and around and
with each other
and you’d whisper love into my knuckles as i hummed you to sleep
because you might’ve learned to run but i’ve been
hobbled with you my entire life and ****, i’d die a thousand times over
just to see you smile.

Aching under his skin.                   his nerves are
Exposed wires that hang low between his
Veins and
                Red goes with blue goes with bleached-bone-white
Goes with nothing at all
Because the angel is dead and the sky
Won’t fall.

The water tastes like cyanide,
The ocean is stripped of salt
Your eyes are stripped of blue;
                Won’t you take mine
Instead?
Won’t you take me home?

Home, o home!                      home is a stupid
                Word for stupid
People who believe in
                      Things like love and
Faith and a world that plays
Fair.
The only fair player in this game was death
And               I always knew he’d cheat in the end.

I’m praying for Pangaea so I can run to the ends of the earth for you. Mixed signals are cancerous so I swallow yours down to keep you safe. Sure, souls like fire in my bloodstream burn on the way out but they’re streaming for you into this chest cavity missing a heart, my own Judas, betrayed me for your eyes. Even saints can be lost causes, darling, but you’re neither. You’re a superhero, all technicolour capes and dollar-store disguises and you’d think I’m the damsel in distress but I’m your nemesis. Why else do you think I’m burning Earth to the ground, for my own perverse enjoyment? I’m pulling your hair, putting tacks on your seat because I’m too afraid to say I love you, which is a truth, which is a bomb to defuse before our bed becomes ground zero. I laugh at your jokes and offer myself up for slaughter but you’re not biting so I’m walking home in the snow, alone. I’m cold, I’m frozen. I’ve gone home to a Heaven of ice, heads in the freezer like a good luck charm, your words carved into my palms so I won’t forget. Back to the lab, back to the drawing board. Maybe I’ll close the warplans for tonight.
I know you belong to her but I’m jealous, baby, I’m so jealous. I’ll tell you to bow down, defer, sing a hallelujah to lull me to sleep before I remember how much it hurts to love you. And tomorrow when you’re gone I’ll plan death: hell, maybe the world’s. You might love me then. I’m not too hopeful.