Candlepins are only disguised pills
the fall, counted.
One by one, swallow. Repeat. Swallow.
Swallow.

Because spitters are quitters, right?
Spit.
It’s only good after cinnamon griffins scale your throat -
comfort in knowing it’s over.
Spit.

If it’s bitter, spit.
If it’s bitter you're too late.
You should have warned me -
the walls did.
They breathe with me,
twisting
patterned.

Because words are only patterns right?
Subtract an “s” from a “t” - keep the “o”
(only for yourself)
Draw up “weak” to steal a “k”
Steal permission.
Breathe with the walls.

Spit.
Chew, choke, spit.
Choke on the numbers.
Steal.

Emptiness, breathe.
Bitter, breathe.

If blue lines held in hands marks our end,
Blind me.
Allow me to never see our shade again.

One hundred eighty-three.

I still find boxes of our letters,
Catch your scent on my pillowcase.
Rosemary, Gardenia.
It’s become pleasant again.
(But I still can't see your shade of blue.)

Because blue blood runs dry
her lips were ugly words.

Because
I envisioned my body splayed on pavement,
Life leaving slowly,
skulls shattered on doorframes
A non-existent lust for life you promised to nurture

Mens Sana in Corpore Sano
Boys sanity in corporate security
Because his hands followed me down every hallway,
Through every lesson
Every no turned to yes turned to quietness.
all I ever learned was to be quiet.

It’s why so many combust
high - among the stars
Pressure compacted and shot into darkness
By the sound mind
The sound body
The sound of a body hitting the ground
The sound of my body hitting tile
Your hands grasping my skull.

I am not the wife she needed.
she never need a wife.
she needs a man.
a michigan man.
a medicine man.
a mans man
a masculine mass of muscle man
a man to make more little men with.
a man who watches us make out
mouths on mouths on mouths
till he finds the courage to drag **** out of his.

the first girl I slept with told me i didn’t count.
the first girl I loved is still in the closet.
the first girl I dated has a boyfriend now.

In this man’s world
she still sips, steals, stinks with liters of whiskey.
Texts me the next morning saying i went home with two guys last night and i am still
so empty.
She hides in holes of london
Hides in fear of hell
Hides and heals in me.

My love hides in middle ground
perched like a bird on the fulcrum of a teeter totter
nested in the arms of justice between the scale.
she texts me everyday
“everything has gone to ****. I wish I wasn’t too scared to make myself happy”