Kiss,
Your mouth like hot butter,
I bite down on the rich fullness of your lip,
Pull,
Hear the moan catch in your throat,
Clings to the walls of your oesophagus,
Because it gives you away,
Desire,
Oh mystery man,
Who finds his feelings so far from the sleeve,
So vulnerable with your shirt off,
For a sharp tongue,
Its a soft body,
I want to curl up,
In the hollow beneath your ribcage.

Make a sausage out of me.
she screamed.

The color? I asked.
Yes. With all my colors.

Your nails pink
Hair gold
Eyes blue.

Skin?
Peel it.
She yelled.
It's torn
Tarnished.
Peel it
and make a sausage
In red.
She screamed.

The problem with loving an artist is it appears beautiful
You get endless sketches of your hands and eyes
On coffee shop receipts
You get scribbles about the endless abyss of your love
Written in the margins of her class lectures
You will receive long tight embraces and soft kisses that
sometimes feel as if she is trying to swallow your scent
And that's all okay for a while

The problem with loving an artist is it gets ugly
she'll smoke too many cigarettes at 4 pm on the back porch while
She mumbles to the sunset about another day gone
You'll find her in bed at 8 am with pages of sad ramblings
Clutched in hand even in sleep
She will skip meals so she can revise the same four words
Until they are the same as originally written
She will ask you to listen to a different song every day because it
"reminds her of you"

Eventually you will find her with paint and blood
Curling into the drain
But she will shut the door on you
And when you question her about the razors you found in her nightstand
She will take them from you and say
"This is how I make my art"

And for the first time
You will read the poetry on her wrists
And you will be unable to say what she needs to hear because
You are not a poet
You do not know how to make words into love
You do not even know if you want to stay when she calls you

"Muse"

My professor is looking at cars on a white projection screen
I am wondering why it was worth my time to come today
Bought a book for $260 so here I am

The boy with a Mohawk and
Chiseled cheekbones looks at me
I always catch him glancing back 3 rows

I don't know the colour of his eyes
But I know the exact bone structure of his jaw
and the way he tightly clenches his fist until the knuckles are white

He makes me wonder what I am
To know that I want nothing more than
His hand colliding with my face
What does that say about me

My professor is an old man who can't walk without a cane
He shows us his ****** art he is so proud of
We are all in rose colored glasses
That does not go away no matter our age
And that is probably the saddest thing

Grandmother veins wrapped like seatbelts around necks
Head first through windshields
Arms reaching around their tombstones

Worms playing hide and seek in kidneys
Gutted pigs in slaughter

Faded wreaths
Fake flowers
Streetlights

Disappearing children
We are fading with each step
Dust in the wind
Dissipating

Happy birthday whispered
Baby wings on *******
India ink burned

Who do you belong to
Who gave you the key to unlock your shackles
Fly from the car

Yellow caution tape
Siren anthems
Resounding death rings

I hate when my counselor that I’ve seen 8 months
asks me why I shaved off part of my hair two weeks ago
like maybe I just wanted to and
this isn’t about Freud
now where are my test results

Sometimes I hate being so dependent on what axis my personality lies on like without a name for myself I will fall to pieces

And she delivers because no one refuses me for some reason
like they are afraid of something in the bone structure of my face
or in the hollow of my eyes

and she reads me what ive known since the day I turned 13
She reads me what I've known since I strangled
my cat in the woods when I was 14

She reads me what ive known since I stole
all my mothers pain medication and sold it when I was 15
She reads me what ive known since I was caught by the police at 16  
and didn’t bat an eyelash at the prospect of it all
because somehow it doesn’t matter

She reads me what ive known since I crashed
my car into a store and laughed
Since I totaled my car into a ditch at 90 with
no seatbelt and caught air and walked away
invincible because I cant get hurt

since I ran over my dog and played in its blood
and then made myself cry when I called my mom
and blamed it on an innocent guy

I’ve known what I am

but she is worried about putting a label on me
like maybe im not a sociopath or narcissist or borderline
like she doesn’t want to be the one to blame if shes not right

Call me evil
Because I am

The first time we had ***
(Or made love as you like to put it)
I choked you

And if you really want to make love then you need to
close the door on me and use a triple deadbolt
I am incapable of making love

I am hot water on the burner on the stove bubbling over
and if you don’t want to get burned you need to put a lid on me

I wrapped my hands around your neck while I was on top of you
and I watched as your face changed colour
and your mouth opened and closed like a fish flopping on deck
but there was no air to breathe

And it was really making me excited until I realized that you liked it
so next time I held your throat with one hand and
bit your chest so hard you started to bleed in a few places
and for some reason you got off on that too

But when I asked you to spank me I got four tiny slaps
and then you held your hands around my neck gently
and told me that you couldn’t bear to hurt me because you loved me

So I guess that goes to show
You will get no love from me

I wrote you a poem and all you said was “I love you!”
and I need a whole lot more than that  

Did you know Marilyn Monroe was borderline too
and what did that leave her besides a suicidal mess I do not look up to?
But I guess she did **** JFK so there's that

Today is valentines day and I didn’t say anthing to you about it
because I know you hate February 14
because 2 years ago you had that major surgery

You didn’t talk to me until 4:20 today
and that was only to laugh about the timing
and it's really hard for me to not tell you that I wanted to **** myself today but instead I wrote 5 poems and drank too much coffee

and **** I would really **** for a cigarette right now that
I have to use my charm to get
because im only 17 but somehow
I always “forget” my ID and wear a low cut shirt
and flirt openly with the 40 year old indian guy across the counter
just so I can get my illegal nicotine

I wonder what my mother would say about that

Life is tricky to me
I like to call it science
and I am ready to believe in anything that might be able to give me sustenance like star signs or mythical monsters or

You

When I went to sign up for college I sat in my car for an hour
with the windows up and no air conditioning in the middle of august because I wanted to punish myself for my weakness called anxiety

im really very good at punishment

just ask all the friends I've lost
because I tried and succeeded at ruining them
and then couldn’t hide my smile in the inevitable confrontation
that followed

I told my counselor I would have rather done time than do
community service and she couldn’t hide her shock
and I asked her what did she really want from me

what does she really know about me besides what I let her know

I know that her middle name is Carol and shes 37
and has a little boy because she always drinks out of a cup that says mom and shes always twisting her wedding ring
and she likes black heels and she never gets her toes done
but she does her nails every week at the place two blocks down

I know because ive staked her out
and at Kroger she heads straight to the vegatables and she never eats meat

and she will never know whats really bothering me