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my clothes feel too big,
& my bed feels too empty.
so i keep throwing things around
making messes on my floor
to fill in the vacant space.
colouring the carpert
red & black.

my sweetest memory lies
there, tangled & woven into
sweat-laden sheets. a thoughtful,
steady drag of cigarette;
a cloudy gaze beyond a
tinted window--recall the
shape of her against me.
her hand on my cheek, on
my neck, on my chest.
a sigh, a moan.
a whisper.

a kiss on palest skin.

beautiful.

I'm 

so 

tired

of not 

having 

the 

courage 

to live 

a normal, 

boring 

life.

in your own words...

i spent hours
trying to write
you something

long,

thoughtful,

and beautiful.

but every time

my pen 

touched the paper.

all i could think was...

i love her too much to even breathe.

please. never leave.

i was only trying to spell a loss.

i keep hiding 

little 

notes for 

you, sending 

them through 

text 

in it's various 

form. i just 

want you 

to know... i 

think about you. 

i wish 

i could write 

in this. 

i wish 

i would write 

anything 

down anymore.

please... are you listening?

last tuesday.

shit gets me high--that's what i can say for it. the emptiness in my stomach--the well digging down--the nausea--the aching won't leave me. it's profound--consuming. i feel like curling up, serpentine on the floor. crying. i need a thousand pounds of heroin. i need to drown myself in pills and liquor. 

or maybe--maybe--i just need to get sober.

my head keeps going around like this.

sitting legs crossed inside my double-wide bedroom closet. shirt sleeves dangling, brushing by my ears. she's cooking a cotton shot while i'm nodding off, desperately crying a pathetic plea for her to tell me everything is okay.

i wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. not fuck, like in the movies. not even have sex. just sleep together, in the most innosent sence of the phrase. but i lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and i was gawky and she was gorgeous and i was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. so i walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, i was a drizzle and she was a hurricane.

just a thought.

what a beautiful face
     i have found in this place.

i felt proud of myself talking with college literature majors & realizing i knew more about their topics than they did. i don't know what it is about this feeling of superior understanding & comprehension that makes me feel accomplished. maybe it's nice to be reminded i'm more than a drug addict and a drop out, and i'm more than a complete deadbeat. maybe i'm just a huge mess of wasted potential.