10 Mar 14 at 7 pm

- jack-rabbit

- jack-rabbit

I am my best at 
2 in the morning

I look my best
under streetlamps
and on wet sidewalks

and there is nothing 
better to do but shoot up
and sit out 

the rest of our lives 
on broken concrete 
and I do well 

with the crack heads
and the prostitutes that 
hold up the street corners with me

and I’m not ashamed to say that
the bags under my eyes are filled
with cigarette butts and shit. 

We are the accumulation of years. 
We are the children of circumstance; we 

taste time like wine, trickling down our chins until there is almost none left.

We are fleeting moments, constantly existing, but we forget. Try to catch ourselves, when really time is as easy to catch

as a whisper in a library of noise.

We don’t sink
Like ships
In plastic bottles
Of Pepsi and coke

We careen like
Drunk drivers
Into broken
Promises and
Addictions to dope

We sail like
Falling airplanes
With no hope
Of survival
And still our hands reach up for
That impossible promise of salvation

And I wonder what we’re breathing in
When breathing out is
No longer an option

I took what I could
And I ran and
I can’t blame myself

But I can in so many ways
I blame myself for the life I live.

I starve the children.
I burn down the houses,
I am the arsonist and the
Executioner of rapists.
I took your mental virginity

I took
The time to hate you
And loved the pain and I’m
Sorry if my scars scare you


I’m sorry in so many ways
And in so many sentences
I still don’t give a shit if you’re squeamish
because I didn’t ask for this

I expected nothing
I am nothing
All I can so is keep running
Until I can’t breath

is a white crayon.

are blank paper
getting colored
in the dark.

is me not
how to draw

My heart breaks for you
Into crevices I cannot recognize,
Severe faults and dusty bowls

Of why and no,
I can’t seem to get my mind
Around what I did wrong

Or what I was supposed to do.
All I can be is broken,
All I can do is bruise,
I am unsettled dirt
You’ll never use.

You should be in my arms
not in my head,

keeping me warm
not keeping me up,

we should be twisted like knots
not spread out like stars

that keep me company 
when I can no longer stand

to be alone
with my thoughts

Take the edges of my body
And fold me like paper planes

Burn the frays of my ripped pages
So that nothing is left of your water marks

Color me and tear me apart
Like a love note you found and lost

Keep me folded, keep me sacred,
Forget me in your back pocket

Crumple me up with your used gum, after all we both already have that in common

The space I fill with my curved body

Empty plates and
Belt buckles, amps,
Unused Solo cups

Remember you’re not coming home.

Silver linings and
Rusted tin roofs,
Old picture frames

I can’t cry anymore

Soaked tissues and
Broken records,
Condom wrappers

All I want is not to be alone.

When they find me,
Wherever I end up
Just know there was
Nothing you could have
Done to derail my tracks
Stop me from spewing
Blood and sleeping pills

When it happens,
It’ll be messy and broken
And wretched and I hope
That you don’t see me
In those ragged jeans.
I hope they bury me in
Your favorite dress

Because when it happens,
I’ll be dead and you’ll be wishing
There was something you could have done.
But for me, it is the only thing I’ve got left to look forward to then.

Like bones and breathing,
You are what keeps me together
Apostrophes to punctuation,
You are the language I’m written in
Oxygen and fire,
You are the spark that keeps my world lit
you are the potentiality
To my imagination
You make me whole

You’re the breakfast to my
Morning appetite, scrambled eggs
Salted with shitty excuses
About where you were last night.
The draft hitting my bare shoulder
As you creep back into bed,
I can’t help but remember
When the fire is out there is nothing
But cold.

You are foul,
you are broken,

You are my everything.
You are important.

Keep it in your pants,
In between your thighs
That thing that isn’t so much
A promise as it is a lie
That you’ll break me into a thousand
Uneven pieces

Being hurt, being a wanderer
Of your thick forest makes me
Scared, makes me vulnerable
Makes me think I’ll never make it
To the other side

Of your bed or your belt buckle
Keep my hopes in your pants
And I’ll keep my hands in my front pocket.

There is pain and there is longing
there is taking and there is borrowing;

you left your coat on my dresser 
with my hopes in the front pocket. There was
the soft song of your footsteps reaching
the doors I left open in case you needed;
that was the leaving

and soon after came the longing.
Like the graphite in my broken pencils
you lead and I followed,
falling into the trail of bread crumbs

and cigarette butts. I tried
to catch up but your walk
became a run
and my pockets were heavy
with your promises
if that’s what they pass for these days.
I took what was only meant
to be borrowed. 

I don’t want to think about you anymore. I don’t want your voice to be my life raft in a sea of conversation I cannot swim out of. 

I don’t want to burn myself when I think about you, Burn my insides and then burn everything else. I don’t want keep picking up broken pieces of myself because there are so many and they are not easy to replace. 

I don’t want you to call me only to ask why, then spit in the face 
of my trying to be a better person without you. 

I don’t want you to ask me what I taste like because I’ll gag at the site 
of that old desire to rummage through your boxers in search of whatever love is made of these days. 

I don’t want to stop, most of all. I want to keep trying. Trying means I leave you behind.