A-Lovely-Anxiety

what does your november look like? what does your december look like? it looks like, looks like, looks like pale moons of flesh where she glowed under satellites and i thought this feeling was alien. when really, this space was a void that only looked full when light hit it. a lost cosmonaut searching for new planets in emptiness. how empty was this when i first laid in the crater of your arms?

I put a bullet in her head, but she keeps coming back to my front door. That's my fault. But what isn't my fault, what I will never accept as my fault, are the things she leaves on the doorstep for me to find after she staggers back into the lake. They're photographs and diaries, addresses and phone numbers. It's always something horrible--the first photograph was of four men in hoods surrounding a little girl on a plinth in a large stone room. They had cut her vertically along the belly, and her face was distorted. Another time I decided to go to an address; it was in Pittsburgh, a long way from my home. All it was, was an abandoned projec

but saturday night i wanted to offend god into listening to just one line- needed to drag someone into hearing the roar between my ears with me. i'd like to write something you can put music to- lyrical and pretty. funny. maybe irreverent. but today what is most real to me is not laughter. it is feeling short of breath. empty of poetic language. unfunny. too long for a limerick. unsuited to sonnets. musical only in the slamming of my heart.  an erratic beat at best. endings. comparing crises of the mind to someone throwing up in the bathroom after too much beer pong and hard rock- both are shameful to repeat in therapy and i feel like i c

how much of me can you swallow, love before you finally purge? I am a cartographer of bad experiences; I can locate precisely where I see our divergence extraordinaire and I can tell you before I have even met you that the skin on my hands is too dry for the softness you plan on caressing me with. let me tell you how this ends; I will show you all the people I have destroyed - flooded to the best of my ignorance, driven wild with jealousy, had whipped with lust and left smoking pot after four promises stating otherwise. let me tell you how this ends; after showing you the blessed catastrophe it is to be human, you will destroy me. you may

i. The first thing you need to know about people is this: we're shitty. ii. If you cut off our head, we will grow two in its place. We will divide and conquer until there's nothing left but tiny gaping mouths, clacking and salivating at the crumbs of an empire. iii. They tell me hurt is like a paper cut: quick and forgotten, forgotten. They're wrong. Hurt is the first step off a balcony, the first gasp in a chain reaction screaming from the railing to beyond the pavement. When I finally hit the ground, I looked up and saw my halo dangling from the edge, dented. iv. We cycle. He said, she said, I wanted, he lost, she won, I ruined

1. if someone invites you back to their place for coffee, and you only drink tea, don’t stress: you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee. 2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out again and you think about accepting for the first time because you’re sick of going home alone and you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn. stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded that you’re about to burst all over again. 3. you’re gonna