ang'r

EMPTY WORDS
LIKE EMPTY BUCKETS
YOU KEEP TRYING TO POUR
ON ME
BUT NOTHING
COMES
OUT.

you hollowed me out
and he filled me up.

still on my mind

similar

post it note reminders.
every time i think i've picked
them all off
another appears
stuck to him.

one year, gone.
no memory, it doesn't
even feel real.
it has no materialistic value
it cannot be touched
it cannot be
reproduced.

i bought him a long time ago
and my warranty is up.

how long will this one last
before it breaks,
before it must be returned
before i no longer get
my money back.

at one time, the world was ending
but it decided,
'that isn't exciting enough'
so here we sit.

everything was so common
and needed no thought
and history is repeating
and repeating
and it's good, but nostalgic
and heart wrenching
and how many more times
must it repeat
before i get it right?

fear swells
for one day he may look
how he used to
and you'll have to face it.
you may have to face him,
accompanied
and that would be worse.

all you are, is rage
sometimes pretending to be
laughter and
every other emotion people
see on your face.

how many months until things go
sour?
not yet do your fingers yearn
to confine themselves
to tracing monotonously
continuously, hungrily,
but you're sure it's getting
close.

things are divided now,
split
but certain days
when the sun is shining bright
it's all the same.

maybe he was going crazy
thinking you thought of him
out of the blue.
or maybe you're just hopeful
and he's angered, contemptuous
and disgusted.

you want to talk for hours
but you also want to
forget.

sweat boils on your dermis
white burns inside your eyelids
and you're spinning backwards
along with your eyes
rolling into the back of your head

he is much better
and you
are much happier

sharp

the wind through the trees
whispered forewarnings of
thunderstorms approaching.
dull ache, middle ear
and apprehension but
excitement.
smooth expanse, full body
the sun comes out
hot and bright
and disappointment swoons
between your eyes.

the last connection
failed to uphold
and it's ruined you since
completely throughout
and left a hole you can
see through.

firelight is a smiling
disposition on scars
and a facade you can't
erase.

painful arm

almost like a father figure
you like the way he wears his pants.

every touch
stops time
and if eyes are closed
the insides flash bright
white.

it's so easy and yet
so odd.

you love it just the same.

save

blistered feet
warm concrete
acid tongue.
your life fills with
daydreams
that begin with a spark
and spiral into a whirlwind
of every shade of every colod
you've ever seen.
eyes high to the sky.
it erupts and ends
with a pop of red lips
and breathless sight
that endows upon you
love and lust.

ice cold

you bite down
and rip pieces off of me.
(sensitive arm flesh)
and as i'm destroyed,
my agony is reflected
back at me
in your reflective-glass eyes.
blue tides.
and your mouth opens wide
as you laugh,
displaying my remains.
i am your sense of humor.

---

this is the most alive you've felt
in a very, very long time.
gray clouds, gray air
salty, it's delightful
on the tip of your tongue.
nostalgia, lust and want
emanates from your being
and it's cool but not
cold.
the past is still haunting
but slowly it's being
masked.

numbers

#1. you hunger for him

#2. his smile is a fucking beacon

#3. the most beautiful thing you've
ever done
was look into his eyes

#4. he's never around
anymore.

your body will
explode from the inside
into a million little pieces
of flesh and bone and muscle;
spiderweb cracks,
the quake emitting from the
center point.
you shiver from your heart
outwards
and it swells to twice its size
fluttering from frail wings
coming back to life

enthusiastic

he is sunshine in a bowl.
you eat the rays
with a tarnished spoon
and smile with big, wide teeth
at the warmth

and cut it, too

blue toxic paint
acrid and flammable;
red flame retardant jumpsuit
similar to the sweet
jeune fille.
undercooked pancake
with powdered sugar and syrup.

a figure that makes you feel
inadequate,
small and pitiful.
the washington monument
smalls in comparison.
wide and soft and an
int ter est
yet his mouth makes you feel
ad e quate.

you still sleep
within the salty sea
with small waves that
rock you back and forth.
you're still bent,
an oak boat
with no passengers.
fireworks explode off of you
in a display of beauty
and color
that spark debate
on light spectra
and colors that do not exist.

everyone is reconnected
every one is reconnecting.
paper cups attached with strings,
primitive,
and they all can hear
but you cannot.
it's magic can't work for you
worthy, you are not.

you will take every
opportunity
and none will move you
from your spot in hell.
the place mat is set
your spot, reserved.
perpetual pain and perpetual
want.
tribal and stupid,
disintegrates your worth.

"fuck the pain away"

i'm sick of all of you pretending
and lying
and cheating
and being fucked up
just to get through the night.

vertical

you leave the entry form
blank
because the words are stuck
underneath your skin.

you leave
to pull them out

out

the earth in its infancy
dry, cracked
solid, sandy desert plain
a circle of withered life
not yet begun.
it reminds you of your own
inner core.
as if the earth's outside
represented your insides
and your outsides
represented the earth's
insides.

you never talked.
perhaps that is what
destroys you
every waking moment
of bated breath you take.
relaxed, your heart raced this morning
and threatened to over count.
your nerves vibrated
making stationary stature
impossible.

some feeling emerge
that tell you to give up.
some tell you to hope
some encourage violence
and others, neutral ground
and even sweet anecdotes.

you persist the unobtainable
in a frail attempt
at a shot in the dark.

he is closed off and arrogant
outgoing and the center of attention
but speak so, "faire face"
and he will anger, deny
a match struck, hundreds of degrees
spewing from painful friction.

so many things in the dark
and any success or improvement
would be futile.

one year to the date,
and many other dates to come
that chill your bones
tremble your jaw
blend and strike your heart.

it will never be over.

the sweet face easily forgiven
now you taste doubt
anger, passion, absolute hatred
and your body elongates and grows
and you stand above her,
towering and screaming
breath so powerful it knocks her down
and you crush every platform she ever
stood upon
and remorse laughs at your pity
and regret
and he doesn't have reason but
he's always there, and he's always
right.

you want to know
every minute detail
of july 11th,
but knowing would mean
the tearing of every skin layer
and every vertical sector
of your body.

he will never speak of anything
you wish to know
no matter how tame,
and it turns skin to sandpaper
that you scratch at
to hurt and be hurt
to peel away
and to scrape up palms.

honey on the tip of your tongue
and it burns the skin that has
gone away.
you use it, pooled
towards "enemies"
and those who do not appreciate
all that you've become.

DO YOU EVEN FUCKING STILL CONTAIN
ANY SLIVER OF CARE OR WONDER
OR THOUGHT FOR ME?

"i don't think i'll kill myself,
not tonight"
are you pussying out?
"i'm finally pierced, they haven't healed"
but they are there.
"my mother would instruct the mortician
to remove them. everyone's last memory
of my face would be of scabbed wounds
and cheap morgue makeup, an attempt
to cover them up"
excuses, you will never have the guts
"i will not let you become a part of me"

outside, you swell and you swell
and you swell
inside you shrink to almost nothing.

not even real words
that escape your mouth
arise, now.
they settle and content themselves
with buzzing around your brain.

it's impossible to speak.

"it feels good to hear you whisper my name"

"it feels so good to whisper your name"

i hurt

the sun warms
and the wind blows my
forehead
and it feels like
air light kisses,
like nostalgia and
sweet bliss
and the taste i
can't remember.