0 0 0


Configuring yourself with binary code and timestamps confused by the wedges of the world didn’t have to make you heartless
you preserved that in saltwater,
killed it,
by yourself
and it is unforgivable to blame for when the clock strikes 2 AM and you are still at 3 hours behind.

You are a bleached body with chemically submerged innocence, stating it has been stained when you’ve soaked it and never rung it to try and dry.
The broken aren’t the broken until they’ve been healed
or disappear trying to.

If suicide is a sin, you wouldn't have outweighed God piling mesh sashes at His feet,
convincing him what you say is what you mean to say
     --you have no approximation of what you intend. 

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I am self-induced cuts-all-over-my-limbs from latching on to nails on the wall, and so, I protect myself
from a fall on

I hear life is the hardest thing for a human, when I die, if I am offered the body of a jellyfish,
or the reincarnation as a human, I will probably resort to the world of disorderly-conduct,
and not only give the old man a seat on the bus,
I give him translucent polka-dotted skin and a belonging in the sea. I am quick

to fall off a cliff of rocks and dive into a
one-sided love, a battle with a wall,
the backsplash of annihilated-and-mushroomed-to-rubble but when my

weapons of mass-destruction are caught and
held in the palms of palms that long to palm me, there is a lingering "why"
and a stain the same.

I merit affliction,
and I flee
from mothers' arms, from fulfilled homes, from people convinced that I deserve to be kissed, and from people who say that when I die,
they will miss me.

I am a vacant grave lot.
Honestly, to dedicate a whole grave lot to my rotting entirety is a lot.
It is more than enough, I wanted to be
the first place
in just one race of love.

When I have never learned to breathe with my head submerged in love's vastness
and when I cannot understand how something so adamantly beautiful can wash up on a beach shore and evaporate to mangled intangibility in less time than it takes for me to take a shower
in the first place.

1 0 1


It is 4:33 AM
I am sleepless and
blushed the flush of my cheeks
speak by veins' blood rush in the vain speculation
I have fallen in love
I swear by Cupid's bow and the ruddiness of my Cupid's bow
my roses lay on the apples of my face
and your flight to the Big Apple is less than 24 hours away, you
are a hot tar mirage.


I can see myself seeing you

40 stories below strolling the street I could plunge the 480 feet

and try to run into you but I imagine you'd run into the dropped-watermelon version of me.


I'm no better off than having been shot with an arrow
into the air of my chest's cavity and
within my perception of adoration,
hopelessness is a commonality babble and mouthful of saliva.

I peel your skin back and receive a mouthful of seeds.
Of all the things I am able to love
I choose to love the one that does not love me.

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I was never here.

I was never a line of

misaligned buttons a pair of

lips which lines were always a size too small for yours

and if summer circa 2011 did not stain the back of your hands

my fingertips never touched your palms.