this was my weekend.

i like watching girls dance pretty. none of this stupid grinding and ass shaking. unless they're s, naturally. then i just laugh. i don't even dance so much as jump around and kick the air. and i like how girls skip.

is it weird i like eating hotdogs cut into moons with a toothpick, like they're hors d'œuvrs? 

no, i don't want to kiss you girls.

do i look like i enjoy that sort of thing?

. . . .

cheap knock-off converse.

menthol camel silvers, drawing hearts to each other in the stains of our hot breath on cold glass. i got really touchy i think, i kept kissing you on the neck & grabbing your hipbones & you just said sweet as apple pie: no, no, baby. save it for my bedroom. & you smiled & you winked & a whole flock of awkward gay teenagers bust up laughing. someone made this awful heroin joke & we only rolled our eyes; i traded a weeks worth of medication for a private thirty rack & half a bottle of sailor jerry. a weeks worth of me sitting still for one night of moving moving moving.

bathtub photo-ops. heavy stench of super dank chronic. hello kitty bandaids. all my stupid bloody noses. dancing topless to benny benassi. spilled beer on your black boots. piercing studio and we got a sweet hook now. (not so sweet after all). getting punched in the nose. listening to girls adore us. adoring you. porno playing cards & two hours of amphetamine fueled catching up.

          she said you talked about me!

          i smiled & drank a beer to celebrate.

outside smoking, someone burns me, we cool, we straight. some short, chubby black girl tells me i don't have to act black just because she's around. really? bitch, you don't know me. you don't have to pretend to be a bad ass just because i'm around. you're trashed & your girlfriend just decked me in the face. get the fuck off my deck.

i can't really remember. you kissed me on the cheek i think? we were outside & everyone was watching us 'cause we're so damn cute & most often the social center of these sorts of things & i was doing the entertaining, mid-sentence & i forgot i was saying words & i smiled so stupid & leaned into you & closed my eyes & heard ohhhmygod look how she melts for her!

     but i can't help it, darling.

     i'm just a super gay cupcake for you.

& i still don't want to really think about it.

it scares me a lot to even remember & i don't want to freak out again.

but thank god for you.

two hours of panic attacks & hyperventilating & shaking & not being able to see because my eyes are rolled up in my head & oh my god please don't leave me alone let me follow you & you held my hand & told me i was okay so i went to sleep on your shoulder hugging you around your waist to make sure you were there with me.

thanks for wearing the pants and letting me be the scared little girl.

if it weren't you in that car with me, i swear i just would have laid out on the freeway & cried.

thank god for you.

thanks for not lettin' me go to prison, mmk?

you're pretty bitchin' that way.

mumford and sons.

my stomach 

is unsettled 

still 

from all 

those games 

of quarters last 

night. the 

sun is magnified 

by the 

scratched, 

water-stained 

glass 

of windows 

in your car. my 

arms feel 

really warm, 

and the 

glow 

really hides 

my scars well 

and makes my 

skin look 

tan and healthy. 

you're singing 

while you 

drive down the 

freeway. you're 

always singing. 

you 

decided to do 

your hair 

differently 

today, too.

     i think you're beautiful.
     i think i like today.

LAMIA.

have you ever seen drag me to hell?

last night i had this dream. i was lying in my bed and i could feel the earth shaking and my floor falling away from me, downward downward downward it cracked and crested and crumbled away into a fiery pith. hard cement and stained carpet tumbling and combusting and exploding into rubble and spewed firecrackers, fireworks into a darker darker center, otherworldly. ungodly.

hell reached up for me through my floorboards.

moaning and screaming and shrieking rung in my ears and i hugged my pillow tight and wanted to stomp out the widening hole in the floor of my room. MY ROOM. my space. but these clawed and hooked and crooked fingers started reaching up through the gaping maw, and they were reaching for me. my sheets were stinking heavy with the smell of rot and acid sulfur. i couldn't stop shaking and tears were streaming down my face, starting to melt away from the heat and disgust in front of me. i wanted to hide and cover myself in blankets, but they were crawling with maggots and covered with all this shit i didn't want near me. but my face was melting away. my cheeks were puddling on my chest and my eyes were jellied and my lips washed away from my teeth as i screamed and cried and swore i wasn't ready for this and i thought i was a good person my whole life other than the drugs and the whoring god god god. GOD. please why's this happening? god save me. god save me.

and someone stood beside my bed and he was tall and he was gray and he didn't belong anywhere near where i lived and he grabbed me under my skeleton arms and picked me up and looked through me in my empty eye sockets and hissed, "you are an abomination. come home now."

this is where you belong.

so basically he threw me in the hole and i burned in the fiery grace of damnation and "fuck-you"s. where trollops and homosexuals and junkies go to learn a thing or two. the hole closed behind me and no one ever knew the wiser. i just disappeared. my family would be eating their morning cheerios while i was chained up and breaking stones in the fifth circle of purgatory.

i think if justin long had been there as my boyfriend, it would have been a little bit more fun.

right?

i feel dirty, but that's okay.

i roamed the streets today. i looked like shit. i really did. no make up. no clean clothes. no sleep. no medication.

god i was so happy.
i was fucking soaring.

some greasy skater walked up and i said hello and he asked if i was 4/20 friendly. i told him about my drug dealing and my getting caught and my probation and he gave me a hug. said i was cute and bummed a smoke and rolled away. he didn't even know my name.

jesus, do i just ooze a stoner vibe?
do i scream DRUG ADDICT?

automatic lights go off as i walk by and i'm two hours early to my alcoholics anonymous meeting. i ran out of cigarettes and the holes in the thumbs of my gloves are getting bigger. i drank coffee and made friends and some lady said i was beautiful and artistic and had a glow about me and said i should model and that i was years ahead in fashion, she told me the look i rocked was supposed to be the next "big thing" according to popular scene magazines.

thank you?

you asked me if i could spend the night at your house again.
god.
i love you.

sour patch kids.

i think i could use you holding my hand a little bit more. you know i'm superman. i have this saviour syndrome. but when you're not around, i feel a little floaty, a little fleety, like i may just fly away. so i like it when you hold my hand. you keep me here that way.

& i like your crooked smile.
& i like the way you squint & close your eyes.

last night i was shaking (i did too much heroin for utah weather) & i buried myself in blankets & pea-coats & little lamb pillows. my head on your bare white thighs i touched your ankles & you counted out my bloody fingers, told me why smoking is bad for me. thank you for caring about me.

& your mom was raised in a different generation. twat probably didn't even exist back then. in word or form, right? is it weird i really hope she googled that?

& you told me to get in bed so i could hold onto you. & why wear pants when you could just... not? our heads on the same pillow, i kissed your neck & promised to not wake you up at night & we talked talked talked like we were grown ups. you told me i had a smell, not cigarettes or chrome, but a distinct keldy-smell. you told me you liked sleeping next to me, too. you couldn't see me smile or my ears turn red because the lights were out, but you should know i loved the way that sounded.
thank you for letting me in. i love being there for you, & i don't really know what to say when my friends are crying, but i felt better knowing at least you weren't alone. you promised me you'd wake me up if you wanted to talk & i kissed you on the back. & on the neck. & on your shoulder blades. & on your stomach. & each one of your froggy-looking fingers.
i don't remember if i ever really slept, but in the dark i turned over to face the wall & stretch my legs. you reached around me & grabbed on my stomach & buried your face in my back. my legs still ached but i couldn't help myself. i turned back around & wrapped my arms around you & pulled you so close i wanted to feel our stomachs touch & you're so precious to me all i wanted was to kiss you and whisper "i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'msorryi'msorry."

did you know?
you are the sweetest thing in my life.
& you are everything to me.

my vampire weekend.

i've been wearing these big obnoxious skater shoes lately. i can't decide if i love them or if i absolutely loathe them. so i wear them a lot and try to figure it out. maybe i should just put on my knock-off converse. i think they're more "me."

go ahead and sink your teeth into me. bite my shoulders, bite my neck. you've seen i'm already a vampire, right? that silver scar indentation stretched over my tendons. i've already been dead, sweet pea. i've been to hell and back, and i've wasted two years stuck somewhere in the middle. but someone brought me back to life and finally i chose to live.
thank god.
but it's nights like these i feel really alive. cause my heart is racing and you better believe i'm shedding these layers. i'm alright standing before you as god made me--super fly.

i hope you leave bruises on my ribs and bruises on my hips.
i think you're a good friend.

(mallory-i'm sorry i smell like bacon.)

this isn't about sandwiches. but that's still coming up.

i was sick all night, and missed my ride to community service because i hadn't slept.
so i slept in until eleven thirty.
i looked out my basement window and all i saw was white.
i like to walk around when it snows a lot, to lay down some footprints in the places no one has shoveled yet. i like to think i'm giving someone behind me a place to lay their shoes and maybe their ankles won't be cold.

so i walked.

i went to a meeting down on geneva, and i refused to argue and i refused to feel bad and i refused to feel sick and i refused refused refused to cry anymore. my sodium is low, baby. can't waste any more of the precious healer metallic. i wish you would keep some of yours, too. i smoked with my friends and i made them laugh and i made them smile. first cigarette in a week. LOVED it. the smoke in my eyes, the taste on my tongue dancing and dancing and dancing around as i spat out words and people caught my passion and my laugh. it sounded like a rave, untz untz untz we like to party you know. pretty girls gave me cigarettes for my walk back, and they pretended to pout when i turned down their offers to give me a ride home but it's been one of those days and i wanted the time to be myself and to think.

so i walked.

dirt streaked slush and snow looked hard and cold, but it melted and splashed away from me when i walked across it. i feel like goddam moses parting the red sea. cars drive by too fast and splatter mud and wet all over my matt-coat and my skinny keldy-jeans. my gauges don't even sting in the cold anymore. titties titties! so there's shit flinging and falling all around me. and i'm getting soaked in it. shit is EVERYWHERE. but i think it's nice, that none of the shit is underneath me. none of this shit is my concern, because none of it is my business and it naturally just wants to melt away from me.

and i'm sorry i swore so much.
but i don't know if you realize how much i was hurting.
and i know you'll never think it's because of the things you said to me.

so go ahead and delete your pictures, go ahead and delete your posts and your texts and your emails and the words i wrote on your back in sharpie marker when we were wasted together and you didn't see the smile i left on your shoulder blade. but i know you won't delete me. i don't know if that's good or bad. you can watch me on facebook, look at my pictures when you feel alone and you think i don't want to talk with you like we do and you think i don't know how it feels to be sworn at and then told you're still loved. don't think i don't know how bad that stings, but know i still choose to believe that i was loved, even when i was being a dumb shit. stalk me, read about the girls i spend my days and my nights with. see how well i'm doing. see how great i feel. see how i am getting through my past and moving foward foward foward. GPS is nothing. i have shit to do with my day. don't let me read your blog, i don't care. but i know you're reading mine. i know that right now.

does that make you angry?
it makes me feel like you still have some hope left in you.
and i love you, baby.
i love you so much.

god. i fucking love this weather.
i'm going to go get coffee.
thank you for being my eskimo.

(you don't know what that means.
but it's pretty special.
and you're the only one i've ever wanted.)

can't wait until you forgive me
and until you forgive yourself.
i know who you are.
i wish you did too.

california.

what i wanted to do was break the law and drive to you. i wanted to bring you brownies and cupcakes and flowers and kisses and speed and suboxone and ANYTHING AS LONG AS IT'S HARD and vodka vodka vodka. i wanted to hug you and hold you and let you cry into my stupid we are paramore shirt and i wanted to let you blame this shit on me again, like you do. i know it's not my fault. i know it's not my fault. but i would have let you blame me if it made you feel alive.

i know that you're alive.

i wanted to fix this and to love you so you could be happy. but i've wanted that before. and it was another boy back then. you told me you were moving to california back then, too. i can't believe i couldn't remember. i feel like there are spiders crawling in my stomach. i feel so fucking sick. let me vomit all these goddam promises and all my fucking love letters right upon your feet, just watch me stain your shoes. i want you to take them out of me. i can get rid of them myself, thanks. i could have cried for you. i could have stayed up all night worrying about you and calling you and just asking if you could stop by one more time before you left, wanting to kiss you and let you know i loved you. i wanted you to KNOW. i wanted you to feel it and to believe it and to breathe it in and live it. i wanted you to know.

but you like to tell people i can't love.
you like to tell people i don't love anyone.
my god.
my god.

and now i'm sitting on my bed. you slept here with me last night. i told you what i was afraid of, and you told me you weren't in fact living vicariously through him. i told you i didn't like it, and you told me he was good for you. and yeah, our pillow-talk is fucked up. you slept here with me last night. you stole all my blankets and i was freezing and it woke me up. i swore to extract my revenge on you and i had a lot of fun and i laughed and smiled and i loved lying next to you and i didn't even want to kiss you, i just wanted to know you were okay and i was so happy and so comfortable knowing you weren't mad at me anymore. i kissed you anyway, though. i think i'd always kiss you anyway. and now i'm sitting on my bed, and i'm shaking from my weird, odd-shaped toes to the top of my square-jawed, squinty eyed head. my scars are sticking out, purple plump and polished. it's hard for me to breathe. my ribs are cracking right where i'm going to put words about you all up and down my side. you can be my skinny love. you've always been my skinny love! and my words will crack and crack and crack down my spine and up my stomach. my room is spinning, i'm not sure how i'm capable of writing this because the letters and numbers are all blending in to one. do you know how fucking sick this makes me feel? when what i wanted was to love you, what you wanted was to make me feel sorry. is that it? how badly do you want my attention. my clothes feel sticky and cold against me and i want to shed them off and drown myself in sheets and blankets that still smell like you. the very thought makes me wretch a little. just last night. just this morning. i woke up and kissed you on the ear and called you beautiful. i was so happy and so comfortable knowing you weren't mad at me anymore. or was that just another lie? i heard you wanted to throw me away.

i heard you wanted to throw me away.
it's like i never had a fucking choice.
how do those words sound to you.
how do these words sound?

i love you.
i still love you with all my fucking heart and i don't know why i do.
i don't think i'd want it any other way.
i love loving you.
even when it makes me bleed and vomit.
i love you.
i love you.
i want you to fucking know now that i love you.
have fun out on the coast, baby.
but know i fucking love you.

i'm crying now and i'm shaking and i can't stop gasping for air between thoughts of you.
have i ever meant even close to this much?
have i ever meant anything at all?
or was i just someone who
would love you while you waited.

(and here's the saddest thing:
i wouldn't mind even
if i was.)

please know i'm here for you.
please know i want to help you feel better.
please know my phone is always on, and i'm probably not

going to be sleeping for the next few days.

please know i only said what i did because you made it clear i wasn't making you happy.
please know i want what's best for you.
please know i'm never letting myself get so fucking close to you again.
but please, PLEASE know that i love you, baby.

i don't think i'd ever want that to change.

god i feel so sick.
god i feel so sick.

my god.

you lied to me.

i'm headin' out to cabo.

i'm taking a temporary hiatus.
i'm taking a temporary break.

i can't handle reality right now.
i can handle my dreams and my future even fucking less.

i'll be back when my heart grows full again.
or when my brain gets a jump and starts to run normal,

it's been over a year since my mind has functioned right.

it's funny, i can live so full with only one and not the

other.

but with both gone, i feel just like i was before.

i feel just like i was before.

this is not poetic, & this is not for you.

honestly baby, i couldn't give two shits about some stupid title.

sometimes i do things that are really hard for me. sometimes i do things that i don't want to do. & really, no -- i don't want to give this up. & so i lied, i'm not doing this because i want to.

but don't think for a second that i'm doing this for you.

i went & brok your heart again; without ever wanting to, without ever knowing. i cried like a fool when i heard what you had been keeping from me. what you had never told me in words.

that you have felt alone.
that you have felt hurt.
that you have felt...
...unloved.

sometimes i do things that are really hard for me, not to be masochistic, but to prove a point, fuck drugs. fuck being warm. fuck physical comfort. fuck cigarettes. & fuck all the girls in the fucking world.

you are the most important thing in my life.
& you will always be my number one.
& i'm sorry if my actions made that hazy,
made that anything but crystal clear.

smoke can do that, you know.

& he told me i was wrong, that i shouldn't change myself for someone else. so maybe i lost some hard earned, hard-to-come-by respect. but i'm not changing who i am, i'm changing what i do. & i've had quiet enough of what i do defining who i am, thank you very much.

& i'd feel much more fraud if i kept going
just because i love it, knowing full well
i'd be tearing apart the heart of the best
friend i've ever had, who i love so much
more.

since when does that sound like me?

& i love waking up at night & kissing you. & i love wrapping my too-scarred arms around your waist. & i love holding hands & singing stupid, jonas brothers pop songs in your car. & i love that we look cute enough smoking hookah together it makes your high school friend jealous. & i love bragging about you & showing you off & calling you beautiful. & i love that you would always call me yours.

but more simply, & most importantly:
i just love you.

so do you think i want to be called your girlfriend? do you think that's what i want? do you think that's what i care about?

i don't.
don't get me wrong,
it's nice.
but i don't.

i care about you.
what i want is to be decent to you. what i want is to stop tripping over myself & accidentally hurting you. sometimes i'm just so fucking stupid, sweetie, & i'm sorry.

i'm so sorry.

& what i want most is for you to feel important, for you to feel loved.
for you to feel loved.
god knows you deserve it.

i'm not in love with you, for fuck's sake.
but i love you.

i love you.

i love you.

(with my heart & also with my toes -- please believe me.)
know that i'm forever yours.

cleaner clean air.

I'm tired of worrying.

I'm tired of waiting

I'm tired of being alone.

I'm tired of not being important.

I'm tired of just being another girl.

I'm tired of being the one who's getting hurt

I'm tired of smelling like smoke.

I'm tired of all the shit that we've been doing and that I've had to deal with.

I'm sick of it all.

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

fuck it all.

i feel so shitty, like a statue under a pigeon coop.

and i'm so sorry.

m is for mallory.

i love flooded basements.
i love burnt banana bread.
i love my friends withdrawing.
i love the jeans i shed.
and if marlboro was a lady,
i would marry the shit out of her.

i was dizzy when i woke up this morning, so i stumbled to the bathroom and leaned my head against the ceramic counter top. your jeans were on the floor; the ones i get jealous of, the ones that make me mad because it's hard to look away from you when you wear them. goddamit, girl. but i tried them on. (i know i didn't ask permission, but you'll find out when you read this. is that okay?)

i think you look pretty, even when you're all sprawled spread eagle sleeping and your hair is everywhere.
and i can't wait to see my friends. i think i'll love today.

i forgot my medication. let me drive you crazy, baby.

hey there, baby bear.

sometimes i think about you.
i think about how we would lay on the couch together.

i wasted
time
touching your
hips, giving you
kisses really
soft and
careful because
your tongue
was sore. i
thought it was
sweet,
how you'd
come out
to smoke with
me even
though you
had quit. you
were always
sweet. you
were always
so gentle and
so pretty.

thanks for the picture you sent me, too.
i know i'm pretty pimpin',
and i know i'm pretty fly,
but i think i'm pretty beautiful there, with you sitting on my lap to keep me warm.
i really do.

(so, how have you been?)

super smashed ho's.

i love keldy. forever.

those were the words i kept of yours. in my little red book of thoughts and prose, your note inside where you left it last year; your simple, stupid chicken-scratch surrounded by pictures of clouds and hearts and pokemon and lightening bolts.

and we were oh, so in love.
and you were oh, so irresistible to me.
and you told me your oh, so dark secrets.
and you lied.
with your oh, so soft lips.
and i?
was in oh, so deep.

i don't know what i've been thinking of you lately. maybe it's all the cold air, and all of the overcast skies and the snow and you know i think too much when it's quiet outside. but still, what you did to me was awful, disgusting. i didn't deserve what you put me through. but still, i suppose i wasn't too sweet either, always letting you think i was okay and trying so hard to love you when i knew i never could.

we were both born dirty liars, you know.

but please know, i'm sorry for the things i said to you. i think you really aren't that bad a guy, beneath all of your problems. i just hope for you that you've been working on those... did you hear i fixed mine? let's have this line of communication open again, sweetheart. i want to hear how your days flow and how your nights are spent. alone? alone.

(i say that, but i really don't
mean it... i actually do want
you to be okay. why do i like
the way resentment sounds
when i talk about you? god.)

and what to do with your note? i love keldy. forever.

i don't think so.
thank god.

should i rip it out, and burn it up? watch the ashes float around in the snowy air. blend in with the clouds and wind, poison up my lungs and the atmosphere and rid the world of one more deadly promise. maybe tear it out and take a bite. yeah. eat it up. molars and canines shred it to pieces and froth at the mouth and engulfed in fury and swallow it down, down, down into the pit of my stomach. acid will corrode the paper, and it will never be seen again. (almost!) or, i could leave it in there. i could leave it in my little book of notes. thumbing through, i could stumble upon it every now and then, and remember you. remind myself you are real, and that we really did have something going once. keep it together, as a red flag, as a warning, as a reminder.

keep it my familiar, comfortable sting.
to remind myself. to remember what i wasted.
because most of the time, i completely forget to remember anything about you.

(p.s. get rid of your nasty unibrow,
you stinky, mossy-toothed fuck.)

(p.p.s. i'm sorry i said that.)

the ruins.

so there was this girl who
bought a piano.

but she couldn't
read the notes.

so she went to approach
a music teacher.

but she couldn't
afford the lessons.

so she got a job
in a factory.

but she was fired
for being late.

so she became
a prostitute.

but she fell in love
with her first client.

so she asked him
to marry her.

but he was
already married.

so she begged him
to get a divorce.

but he was in love
with his wife and kids.

so she decided
to kill her.

but her lover
told the police.

so she fled
to another city.

but she left
her piano behind.

so there was a girl
who bought a piano.

but she never could
read the notes.

terrorize me, captain!

can i tell you something?

twelve hours ago, i tore open a balloon of heroin & handed it to a friend of mine that asked for my help kicking it after his stash ran out & i watched it bubble on a dirty spoon & i watched my friend tie off & i watched him slam it home & it was at least 90% pure & powder, i swear to god.

so i swallowed amphetamines to cope & it was so stupid of me to stay with him to prove to myself i could, but i didn't want him to feel like he was alone. & i don't have fucking cigarettes, & i feel like i can't talk to anyone about this because i don't know if the people around me would understand how stupid images & meticulous motions & the sound of my friend sighing can freak me out as bad as they are.

i feel like i'm hurting her again, when i have these cravings i can't tear out of my head. i can't stand it. & to be honest, i feel a little bit like crying. i really want the goddam smoke shop to open, but i think my friends feel let down or disappointed in me when i buy cigarettes lately.

i really want fucking cigarettes.

A. this means i am human.
& it is only human to feel afraid.
right?

H. having a heart means admitting it can break.
but they always tend to heal.
& i won't let mine stop beating because i was
graced
cursed
with the presence of great dope.

R. i will never be fake, a ghost, imaginery
again.
even if it takes cigarettes,
meditation,
time alone,
to close my eyes and breathe,
i am forever real.
i am real.

i am real.

i'm published now.

when i was young i thought i was poetic, & i wrote these heart-throbbing sad sonnets. see? i can feel like an adult feels -- there's your proof in blue & red crayola. i'm too old for this middle school bullshit. put me with the poets, send me with the scholars. put me in a college, fly me out to oxford.

i dropped out of college three weeks after the first semester ended.

& look at me now, oh so cryptic & charming. don jaun ain't got shit on me. you think i'm good with my hands? you should see what i can do with my tongue. & i like to chain smoke in the cold. & i'm always losing weight; maybe slightly anorexic, but i promise it's not on purpose. i just forget to eat.

honestly.
honestly.
honestly.

so you can keep your wisdom, universe, & you can keep your silly notions of love & romance. 'cause i'm a one-man wolf pack, baby. all your ideas ever did for me was drive me to day dream my mind away while officer friendly told my class how drugs would ruin your life in d.a.r.e.

& now i wear a bullet like a cross around my neck.

when i was young, i thought i was poetic, & i wrote all these sad stories. when i was a kid, i spent every minute i had dreaming about being an adult, being all grown up, going to school and falling in love and being successful.

i dropped out of college three weeks after the first semester ended.
but i've never smiled as much as i do now.

(p.s. know what? d.a.r.e. also told me
smoking cigarettes would ruin my
life. i still don't like you, d.a.r.e. i
think you'd be more effective
playing requiem for a
dream in your
lessons.)

frostyfrostyfrosty.

six days ago, we sipped on sailor
jerry. that's a winner's liquor,
i'll tell you what. smoothed over
my tongue, stung in the back of
my throat. eyes swimming. he
called me impressive and let me
lick it dry.

you just kept driving down the freeway.

but i liked shay a lot, so i fell out
of your freshly washed escalade
and into her arms. meet adam,
he's just another gay uncle.
another gay uncle? tits. my
skinny chauffeur is furry. say
hello to furry, everyone!

you looked over his head and started the car.

i smelled like rum, and it made
my friends laugh. i hear you made
it snow five minutes after i left
you and yours?
cocainecocainecocainecocainecocaine.
and you got some good crank
later that night.
it's a damn shame, you just had
your teeth repaired.

you're a good pseudo mom.
you're a better two faced clown.

of course i love you, but really: what are you doing?

they call me tyranosaurus-mouth.

i feel restless.
i feel anxious; like i'm waiting for someone, or for something spectacular, astounding, revolutionary.
i feel like i'm moving slowly.
& i can't stop rubbing my legs, scratching my toes, tapping & drumming my fingers

to the escalating beat of my wild, fever-frenzied heart.

& i'm starving.
i want to eat.
& eat.

& eat.

& eat.

two beef tacos, all the trimmings plus spicy honey mustard sauce. one leftover piece of pepperoni pizza, one leftover piece of garlic chicken pizza, one leftover & abandoned crust--toppings of the original pizza: unknown. four chocolate mint brownies & a cup of milk, brownies microwaved on high for ten seconds. two beef tacos, all the trimmings plus spicy honey mustard sauce. fried tortilla with butter & cinnamon glaze. two beef tacos, all the trimmings plus spicy honey mustard sauce. the rest of the chips in the family sized ruffles bag. five chocolate mint brownies & a cup of chocolate milk, brownies microwaved on high for fifteen seconds. one sleeve ritz crackers. one twix bar, king sized. one can vienna sausages, split with the cat.

& it's not one o'clock yet.
& i want more. i'm not full. not even close.
i feel like using. i feel addicted, cloudy.
i feel like june and july and early august.
& i want more.

more food. more cigarettes. more sleep. more conversation. more movement. more sex. more alcohol. more xanax, pot, heroin, suboxone, methadone, vicodin, percoset, adderall, adderall, adderall. way, way, way more.

& i don't want it.

i need it.

& that's why i hate missing
morning med cart.

i'm so goddam hungry.
i'm starving.
& it doesn't matter how many helpings i take.
i feel like june and july and early august.
& no matter how much i take.

it can't possibly be enough.

pretty little kitty.

Yes,

I

have

a

filthy,

giant

and

repulsively

hungry

ego.


Yes,

I

would

like

for

you

to

stroke it.

(take you're time. i want to enjoy this.)

sentencing.

i had a speech prepared.

a speech that was eloquent and revealing.
grateful.
generous.
charming.
the perfect slight amount of humour and sarcasm that would instinctively make all attendants; prosecutors, defenders, judge and criminal alike, at the very least crack a "i know what you mean" smile.

i had a speech prepared.

but as i stood at the pulpit, attorney at my side--my mother behind me, sobbing into her manicured hands in the pews at the back--my freshly rehearsed words tasted like hot coals on my tongue, and i couldn't spit them out.

i had a speech prepared, but all i could manage was to choke out a 'thank you.'

and choke i did.

blinking tears back from my eyes, tousling my dumb shag hair to hide my reddening ears, barely above a whisper, barely audible at all, i sputtered these words from my dry and quaking lips:

"i just want to express my gratitude..."
choke back tears.

"... to the state, and for the offers they have extended to me. i'm grateful for their understanding, and for..."
choke back sobs.

"the things that i have learned."

choking.
choking.
choking.

neck and ears a bloody red. lips draining all colour. eyes wet and heavy. heart too still; too scared to beat. my lungs stagnant and quickly becoming stale--i want to breathe.

i hear my mom crying. i hear brad trying to comfort her. i hear dark tar sizzling and bubbling over my favourite yellow lighter. i hear my friend's disgust in me. i hear sirens. i hear solid steel doors bolting shut, caging me. the state-man's voice, ringing: "nothing less than 90 days in county will do. she'll be lucky to get that."

and i hear the ceiling fan in the courtroom, whirring away.

the judge looks on me, a cocktail of pity, sympathy, disgust, judgment judgment judgmentjudgmentjudgment.

she opens her painted lips.


and i don't hear a thing.

you said i make you laugh.

i like it when you hug me.
i like it when you hug me.
oh my god.
i like it when you hug me.

you carry my
secrets in your
mouth, tongue
balancing
truth and
dancing
a ballet of
digression, lips
sealed
and locked--i
swallowed the
key for you
back
in september.

i know you wouldn't lie to me. i know it would burn, and i know it would sting--and you don't even begin to wonder how it would affect me. i know you understand me. i know you believe in me. i know you want to be my friend, not my big brother or my maybe lover; you don't care about my ungodly thrice yearly blemishes. you like me because i'm loud, and you love me when i'm quiet.

pterodactyl cries. broken volleyball fingers. group smoking in the snow. getting busy. lifting weights in my skinny jeans. plans to drop acid. rub my thighs on the bean bag. be worried about your U.A.s. talk shit on shit -heads. write me poetry. read my thoughts. tell everyone off. going to therapy naked. being raised in the jungle. hit on bradley. hold my hips. bruise my boobs with your nose. laugh at my dumb pictures. laugh at my good pictures. be the only one who saw me cry. you're horrible at puzzles, you colourblind fool.

let's pontificate to each other, baby.

this is the way i live.

i walk miles every day in the snow and salt riddled streets, and my nose turns cherry red in the cold -- like santa claus. upon arrival, i breathe smoked steam into my cupped hands and make a bee-line for the restroom were i'll melt the ice off my dirty champion brand sneakers under the hand dryer. thank you, automatik. i have deep rivets blistering on my thumbs and hard callouses line the blades of my fingers, ugly bumps on my knuckles. the old ladies make fun of me and my meticulous cleaning, my endless shuffling from shelf to shelf. but i don't care. i only smile and make them laugh like geese; anything worth doing is worth doing well. my hair is getting long. it needs to be cut. but spring is coming fast, and the thought of the sun warm on my neck makes me smile silly.

i think ur a contra.

i thought you were asleep, & i touched your hips--but you pressed yourself into me. i could smell the sweetness of liquor as i pulled you closer, my stomach flipping & contouring. collapsing in a fluttering heap under my bony ribs as i opened my eyes & saw your mouth parted in that pretty, girly pout. my ears were burning hot. & i could hear your breathing & feel it crawling up my spine... or was that your slender fingers dancing, teasing me? i touched your cheek, you grabbed my neck. & i kissed you on the lips, & everything changed.

wait...
...it did?

p.s. i was healing in november, and i promised myself i wouldn't be in love with you again until you lived by the words you taught me. how am i doing?

in eary august.

you're one of those girls who are so beautiful it pisses me off. i waste time thinking about you. hours turn to minutes, and minutes are no longer a measure. i lose sleep, while you lay there in the corner on your single mattress bed--no box, no springs. sheets and blankets twist around your ankles, wrap around your slender, scar wrecked wrists. you were gone before i finished slinging, sleeping in your dumb blue and grey abercrombie & fitch boxers, some guy's hoodie too big for you and falling off your shoulders. do you know your too small fingers twitch and grab while you're dreaming? your thighs are white like porcelain, licked clean and spotless. white like silken spider webs, strong as relative steel and ensnaring all the insects who fly close enough to get stuck in your sticky, tangled weave. bugs are stupid anyway. the ones who don't get wrapped up in you are left to be drawn into your flame and combust; ashes falling from their lips and blowing away in rising wafts of smoke. and to think i've wondered why my mouth was so dry, my tongue so thick for these past few months.

i wonder how you run so warm with skin as ivory as yours.

you talk about your boyfriends, you talk about your chances and all of the choices you have while i'm the one that kisses you and makes you smile. i listen and pretend not to be hurt, and i tell you how you could act to have those boys fall in love with you. i tell you how to fake it, and i buy you all the liquor and drugs you'll need to be invited over to their apartments night after night. and i pretend it doesn't happen when you get home and your carefully applied makeup has been rubbed off.

tell me, do you remember the night where i drove you around in my old jeep? you got too trashed, and were kicked out of the place you found crowded with people like you--never comfortable, but always pretending to be. i helped you stumble out as they locked their door behind us; your lips red and your cheeks flushed clean, stripped hair tousled and sticking up funny; as tear stained as your expensive petticoat with the big black buttons. you had forgotten how to speak for a while, so we drove around in silence. you hated the beer i had (yes, it was my favourite brand), but you drank it with me while we were stalled in the park that night. you took my coat and wrapped it all around you. talk radio mumbling through my blown speakers, gurgling electric waves and static, you buried your face in my favourite shirt, and you cried. all your secrets spilling from your ground down teeth, powdered enamel falling down upon my lap and i carried you all the way home.

your eyes had stained my favourite shirt, and i really liked that shirt. it'd be a lie to say i wasn't a little sad about it initially; the way your mascara ran into it and your purple eyeshadow ground deep into it's thread. it was early morning and you were home asleep where i had put you to bed, and i hoped my shirt was salvageable. i put it in the wash, drowsy eyes watching the spin cycle with my chin in my hand. fingers bored and thumbing through my mess of hair, ignoring the tweekers walking in and out of the community laundromat. i must have started to doze off, because i remember waking up when the buzzer rang on washing machine #12. walking over and opening the door, pulling out my clothes.

it hurts now to admit. when i saw my shirt was clean again, i felt empty with the stains being gone.

marlboro's.

a blazing cherry. smoke drawn, french inhaled, blown away.

and the roaming sputter of living water.

the biting chill of early january.

why don't people do this?

sit around and chain smoke?

a knowing, tight-lipped smile; the rising curve of crow's feet around small, calm blue eyes.

a slow, steady drag of marlboro.

i think people get so busy chasing success; a good grade, a good job, a good home. boyfriends, girlfriends. people get so busy chasing happiness, finding god and salvation. ikea furniture, a good christian heart beneath medically enhanced breasts.

the mid-morning sun, as brilliant are it's golden rays, does little to fight the nipping cold, and she is starting to shiver. she quit smoking last spring, and her winter coats aren't what they used to be.

having become so focused on the objects, they forget entirely about the scenery, and they can't see the forest through the trees.

a slow, steady drag of marlboro.

why don't people do this? just sit and listen and watch the scenery. take a break from the objects, take a break from the maddening chase. i don't know. maybe i'm wrong. but this is where i feel most calm; this is how i'm happy.

a stunning smile parts frost-shaken lips.

when i think of you, i think you're much more part of the scenery than an observer of it.

rising crow's feet around small blue eyes.

a steady drag of marlboro; smoke drawn, french inhaled, blown away.

a fading, dying cherry.

and the rustling sputter of living water.

the biting chill of early january.

and the spreading warmth of a mittened hand laid softly upon a shivering knee.

naturally, though, i'm happiest sitting and listening -- watching the scenery with you.