. love . life . death . life . love .

Eating Disorder : 4/30

her heart is

binging and purging 

her heart 

always hungry

neither tasting nor chewing 

just swallowing every affection 

she can’t keep it up

she can’t hold it down

her middle finger pressing the back of her tongue

like she’s trying to flip off her own heart

until every sweet word I’ve ever fed her

leaps from her belly

and fills her mouth

but then all the sweetness is

bitter

bile

vile

half digested love

looks like foul

smells like wrong

she is kneeling like Narcissus

staring into toilet water

upside down 

the porcelain kind of looks like a halo 

she cant brush the smell of regret off her breath

the remains of pseudo-romance are rotting between her teeth 

her ribs are showing

her heart isn’t

My Own Personal Evening : 3/30

the sun isn’t setting

but it is getting darker

I’m sinking into my own personal evening

the surface is sliding away

the sun falling into the distance

its long rays slipping between

the tiny anxious bubbles rushing out of my nose

and the fat oblique ones rolling from my mouth

the light making sparkling colors

from my panicked breaths

I thought

how beautiful this would be if I wasn’t drowning

how beautiful life would be if I wasn’t dying

how beautiful you’d be if you weren’t leaving

not until there was no more leaving

just left

not until there was no more drowning

just drowned

did I become lighter

with more light

with more life

than I had when I was living

I thought

how tragic this would be if I had lived

thank God I didn’t survive

not everyone gets to die such a gorgeous death

only drowning freed me

from my fear of falling into deep rivers

and dark waters

only because I laid at the bottom of that river

can I now plunge so deeply into yours

don’t be afraid

let your riverbed quake

let your shore swell

don’t be afraid

I will still reach your bottom

many men have learned  to swim

not many have learned to drown

Wearing Me Out : 2/30

wearing my self out

she says she wears her heart on her sleeve

reminded me

a tree wears its most delicate part on its limbs

leaves lying open

tiny veiny 

frail enough to see through

fragile enough to tear through

hungry enough to make food of the sun

I wear my heart like overalls

well worn in

but only worn in

doors

when finally I wore it out

she wore me out 

but the more worn out 

the more I like to wear it 

out

edges frayed with the familiar

holy and holey

mis match patch work

make scars look like poems

my heart looks 

limited edition

vintage

“nice. where’d get that heart?”

“sorry. it’s custom”

The Dying Is Done : 1/30

she is a wide floating meadow

with more green than gravity 

and more beauty than my eyes can hold

my eyes swollen trying to drink her in

but they cannot bear it

like heavy rain laden clouds

if I don’t weep I fear they would explode

headless but heartfelt

heart too smart for it’s own good

the heartless made headless

by the lovers and lawless

caved in cavemen

the concave lens

made you seem closer than you were

worry is worthless

you worried about being worthless

but who isn’t? 

(worried and worthless?)

worthiness as an aspiration

is like trying to build upon an apparition 

love is fiction

not that it’s not real

but in that you make it up as you go

or make it up as you’re gone

making love

making up love

making up for lost time

making up for wasted life

I’m the authorized biographer 

writing out our fiction 

less biography and more obituary 

aren’t the living always dying?

not until they die is the dying done

jheneaiko:

“A man who trusts everyone is a fool and a man who trusts no one is a fool. We are all fools if we live long enough.” 
― Robert Jordan