"Love is the worst religion,"
croons the dying television,

with no further explanation;
well, thanks for the news -

I see myself in emptied glass,
a bust carved rude and inchoate,

poet, captain, lost apostle
of the worst religion,

baptized in changeling pools
of day and week, scribbling

my night's peak breath
on the flypapers of insomnia.

Sun over sainted skin,
stars where evening eyes were,

swain's vespers, all of it
splitting like new ripe fruit

in sticky hands of the acolyte,
ardent hands of little silver.

The feeling
In your chest
Of something pulling it inside of itself
Twisting it
Twisting it
Twisting it
Until it bleeds
It throbs
And it won't stop
It won't stop
Why won't it just stop?

But do you know the feeling
Of just wanting someone to notice
To care
To heal the wounds or at least tell me that they are able to be healed
That a certain amount of care
A certain amount of gentle, loving handling will be able to fix it

There is so much broken
And it hurts
It hurts like hell and no one sees
I AM BLEEDING IN FRONT OF THEM
AND THEY STILL DON'T SEE

I sit in class
Stare at my empty paper
Write the same words
Over
And
Over
And
Over
And they hand me a test
Or they talk about drama
Or they pretend I don't exist (are they even wrong?)
When I just needed a hug

I needed to wrap my arms around someone
And no longer feel like I was on a different planet than everyone else while simultaneously being directly next to them
I want our bodies to touch,
Our souls to entangle,
And our heartbeats to slow eachother down

And now I hug my pillow

I know I have people who care
But they don't see
And if they don't see
They won't have a reason to hug me

And my chest is still twisted
I want it to stop
I want it to stop
I want it to stop

H
     e
         l
               p
      

        M
    e

you cut open
pomegranate
or is it—
man go?

you take your knife
and you scrape
and you scrape
and you scrape
until it's bared all its pride
until all you hit is flimsy thin rind

my emotions lurch
like a boat in a storm;
violent and unrelenting.
the time has come
to abandon ship
and sink to the inky depths
*calm at last

I'm on my third jar
and I never drink
more than two
but now this pistol
looks lovingly at me
more than you do.

Every night
my harrowed mind
dive into our littered memories
that's evermore enshrined in my dreams.