kill yr god

if not in the bedroom

or on the kitchen table

you will kill your own god

you will learn to hate your own angels

filled with nothing

but the soul once put forward

you will wake in reverse

watch as the telephone wires

dance amongst the trees

set fire to the needles

and the falling leaves

you will remember me in this

in the tangle of these lives

forget to catch your breath

on the way home

you will hold onto me

for I hold this

and this hold true

you will recover and start

that is


and begin again



on the edge of sleep

I am back in the gallery

looking for you

bruised wrists

weighted breaths


I wait for you

between paintings

watch your wild

the way the big moon

watches the gentle grains

touched by another and

I bless every one


the first time

I don’t stop to catch my breath

you leave me begging

cut yourself

on my broken parts



might kill us



I don’t intend on leaving this world whole

when I go

I had better leave absolutely shattered

into millions of pieces

so at least when it’s all over

I can know that I’ve given

all of me

so I’m laying all of my cards out


in a dimly lit kitchen

with all of my best friends in the next room

I hope you can see

how much of a mess I really am

I can’t speak in public without stuttering over my words

yelling “I’m a writer! I’m a writer! I swear I’m good at this!”

I’m a total social recluse when I have the chance to be

and you might not see me for a week

but I promise I’ll come back to you

if you touch me the wrong way I might cry

speaking of crying that’s something that I do

more often than most people pee

I hope that you’ll stay regardless

because I’ll take all of you any day

with all of your poly

all of your gross boi

all of your “don’t tell anyone that I actually have feelings, they don’t need to know that”

I’ll take your Brooklyn “fuck you”

if you take my Denver “sorry, sir, excuse me”

give me all of your army

I’ll give you all of my great recession

give me the palm of your hand

I’ll give you the flowers I pressed when I was 15

tell you all about my house that burned down

let your walls burn with it


please never stop looking at me like that

I could swear

that your eyes

are deeper than the mariana trench

and no

no one needs to know that

but here we are

mixing your gentle

with my cold tremors

your chimney smoke

with my ash

the broken vase we shattered

is a full heart

glowing golden

it is all hell breaking loose

it is the sound souls make

when they’ve found each other

the second time around

so if you ever work up the courage to ask me

are we a thing

I’ll tell you


this is