cowardice

i always end up crying when i tell the truth in person.

to dollface:

please stop doing what you're doing. i may be naive, but i'm not blind and neither are you and i can see your eyes no matter how tightly they're closed.

to friend:

i'm sorry, it was stupid, i was stupid. it's over but i'm too afraid to tell you that because i know i was wrong and so do you and i don't deserve you.

to you:

i'm not sure what this is, but i'm liking it. i don't think it is anyway, but i'm liking even that.

and to you:

there's a part of me that tells everybody the regular painful stuff through the pretty verses and metaphors. there's a part of me that laughs at everything and sweeps all the uncomfortable stuff off to the side. recently i've discovered this other part of me: it's you, coated in dust and hiding behind a broomstick, stirring up all these feelings i thought i was lucky enough not to have. that's all i have to say about that.

between sleep and insomnia

we took the sleepless roads

talked until we couldn't ignore the time

our voices pressing against the silence

in that space between moonlight and daylight

where the streets move like ocean water

slipping between the shadows

dawn chasing darkness

sleeplessness looks good on you

palpitations

it feels like i swallowed a grenade

the pin between my teeth

something tastes like fire

everything is masked in ash when i breathe

silhouettes all gray and purple like clouds before snow

and instead of a pulse

it's unsteady detonations

erupting and charring my stomach

contained so nobody has to run

the smoke inside my lungs is stale

HY4935

I think about you a lot. I thought you should know. I know you're not really worth the time. But certain songs sound like you and certain people look like you and certain shadows feel like you when they embrace me.

You probably don't look good in an orange jumpsuit.