I thought he was mine.
I was so stupid,
I thought he was mine
When he held my sleeping body,
When he swept my hair and kissed my forehead.
I thought he was mine
When we ran away to cemeteries
And watched the stars until
Our eyes were no match for sleep.
I thought he was mine
When I realized I was falling for my best friend,
For someone who took the time
To peel away the bark to see what
Was living beneath the exterior.

You told me we needed space
You told me that you couldn't do this
And I didn't worry,
You would come back to me.
You had to because
You are mine and I am yours
But it's been two years
Since you left me here, exposed.

I am not graceful. I am not dangerous. I do not know many words and I have not seen many places. I am limited by my own normality that nearly borderlines ignorance.

I am bruised thighs and too-short nails. I am scarred wrists peeking out beneath sleeves and the uncomfortable shift of those around me.

I am flat notes sung and misinterpreted sentences that go on without correction.

I am a writer that has nothing to say. Always standing on Sunday night's edge. There is so much potential to be held but it so often falls through fingertips.

I am his placeholder. And when I leave, it will not hurt as badly as those before me because I am forever--always--temporary.

document  the hours passed
with the emptying bourbon glass
you told me that you don’t like bars
so I left in the back seat of your car
I told myself that I wouldn’t drink this much tonight.
but tonight you won’t stop looking at me
you won’t stop tracing my cheek
and I wouldn’t want you to anyways.
I wonder when the neighbors will wake up
will they still have rings of their makeup
pressed onto their lover’s neck?

I thought I wanted to stay 18 forever
but then we wouldn’t have a forever
in the living room, sipping whiskey on your couch
waiting for the world to just slow down.
but if you could stop to listen
you could hear everyone’s existence
balancing delicately on the seconds running by.
our forever is tonight.

don't think I forgot
the vinegar pull
throughout your veins.

and how it won
every time it was
against me.

you had to escape
but you left me behind.

I feel that maybe the only way for people to take me seriously is to actually do it.

That it will finally validate my sadness and finally it wouldn't just be 'all in my head.'

Maybe then people will feel their obligation.

I'm sorry
that I thought
you liked me
when I was laying
on the ground
and you kissed me.

My bad.

now you’re just a reflection, the anxious
itch of addiction, the exhausted ache of
alcohol drowning my veins into a subdued
state. you are the moaning of each muscle,
reminding me of how difficult it is to simply exist.
you are the inferno engulfing my chest as
bourbon fuels the flames of the hell that
I am. you are the angry, crimson cuts collecting
over my arms and legs because physical pain
is so much easier than the empty bed you
left behind. you are the approaching decision
of whether to sink or swim. and I am so scared
of choosing either one.