this is a decaying town

flimsy high rises and trendy bars

don’t cover its filth

don’t distract me from its sweltering desperation

still, if you’re here, i’ll make a home

in the cracks of its sidewalks

are you waiting on the other end? forgive my slow and heavy feet, i’ve been asleep for a while, and i don’t know when i’ll wake up. vienna waits for you, but i might not make it there. no time to slow down. no will to hurry. a crazy child with nowhere to go. and my hands are getting cold.

I had a dream about a home that doesn’t exist. 

a big house. all of us together. and this time no one is yelling. and we were all closer than we actually are.

this time people who left came back — I’d forgotten that they did. 

but even my subconscious knew their presence was fleeting. I was older now. I made a point to talk and smile with them while I could. 

when I woke up I realized they’d left a while ago. and I didn’t do any of that.

if I lie down, open and soft, and let you have at what you like, will you carve your name onto my chest. and kiss me before I lose it all. 

if I wait on you with my head down. if I empty my bottles forevermore, will you close my wounds with your mouth. and try to swallow my tears.

will you replace the wallpaper. will you feed me sleep. will you bandage my knees. and fill in the cracks of my skull. 

before I go under the knife, will you numb me with love, and sever my breath, until I’m gone?

as kids we had nothing else, but there was always plenty of time. the days stretched out before us. a lifetime happened in months.

do you remember the exact moment when time became scarce? when you turned your head and the sky was dark. when weeks went by and they blended together. when you put your coffee down and remembered you had not spoken to someone in years. when you realized they don’t come back.

as soon as i knew what parting was, i was thrown into a never-ending battle with time. the worst feeling always, was to be running out of it. with people. or things. or places. an assignment. yourself, even. my greatest wish, sitting in an airplane seat with tears falling onto my lap, was always to have more time.

is it running out? i don’t know what to do with it.

I fear that I’ve stopped being a person, stopped living. only become a series of dreams, dragging myself from pleasure to pleasure. waiting for the next sugar rush. so that whatever is in between can fade away.

only, when everything ends, my hands are still empty. and I have nothing to show for the days except a bottle of memories that make my stomach hurt.

don’t blame me for stuffing myself.

I only want to be full.

but pick me up. I remain hollow and featherlight. look into my eyes. you see nothing but yourself.

I am tired but I won’t sleep. I am sweet and easy (like monday morning).

I can fill my nights with strange comfort. still I look for you. even if some of my loneliest hours I spent right next to you. night after night I lost my mind to the sound of your peaceful breathing. you couldn’t fix me. and I don’t feel loved by you anymore.

I still cry for you. still wait by the phone. still no bones more beautiful than yours. no skin sweeter.

I dream of home with you. but I am far, far from it.

I’d feed you the flesh off my bones if I could. but I can’t knit us a blanket just to spend my nights waiting for you to come home and use it.

but can I be angry with you? can I let you go. can I accuse you of loving me only when it’s convenient? did you not put my tears in your mouth. did you not endure my edges. did you not make time, when I needed you to?

you have given me everything you’re capable of. and nothing is quite as warm as your downward gaze, softened by your gentle lashes. so I’ll sit with my feet crossed. I’ll look up at you with hearts in my eyes. I’ll breathe your cigarette smoke. I won’t ask questions.

I miss you from a minute ago when you were awake. your breathing slows against the back of my neck and I am alone.

I miss you from an hour ago when you were home. you say I love you. you leave the bed cold.

I miss you 4 days from now when I am leaving. you say you don’t want me to go. you put your hand on top of my head. you tell me not to worry too much. you tell me everything will work out.

I miss you a month from now when I am alone. I’ll call. or you’ll call. but it’s never the same. you won’t finish that movie with me. you won’t listen to the song I sent you.

I miss you in 5 years when everything is different. I don’t want things to change, but I don’t want it to be like this always.

I miss you when my teeth are gone, though I wish I wouldn’t. and I wish I wouldn’t have to.

if we close our eyes, this is it. how could i sleep? how could i bear to let the night end?

1:04 am, Jan. 31, 2022.

if this is what you think it means to care, i’d rather suffer your indifference.

i can’t stop you from thinking you did it right. i can’t stop you from thinking you built it all. but i will know, i am there despite of you. even if my hands are empty, don’t say i told you so. if nothing else, i will be loved. and i won’t look like you.

(mother pt. 2)

the passage of time will always break my heart. he rips from my hands all i wish to hold on to. the cashmere sweater of my love against my face one moment and gone the next. i can almost feel it still, but just short of touching. a second late and my hands are empty. a day gone and i wake up alone.

i say it's not bad at all. i say all dreams must end. but here is my pain. in my bed. in the bleeding cracks of my fingers. in my monotonous days. here is my regret. in old clothes. in neglected texts. in secret tears.

i weep for time lost, like spilt milk. i weep for time i will lose, when i know i must say goodbye again.

if time were kinder. if the world was smaller. maybe i wouldn't lose my grip. even if it left white marks in your skin.

but as always, time is moving fast. and i am moving so slow.

yes, I understand her grief.

no, I can’t bear it. can’t forgive her.

“mother (and why I can’t become one)”

you didn’t know if it was true, but you couldn’t help telling me you love me. and i couldn’t help letting you. i still don’t know if you lie to me. every night. every phone call. but i die with your hand over my mouth. i open myself to you like a pamphlet that doesn’t refold. even though i’ll never learn how to properly read you. i can only try to rip my way through. not knowing the end. not knowing when to stop. doing anything just to feel a little closer. dying with stars in my eyes. dying with my hands in your rib cage. is that your blood between my teeth, or mine.

there are few moments when I see myself for what I am. at my core, a monster with shivering teeth and a hollow stomach. unlikeable. unlovable. pushing away the few who could stomach loving me. I could make excuses for myself. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m depressed. it’s genetic. it’s my family. but at the end of it all. it’s still me. it’s always been me. a moody and angry kid. a moody and angry adult. struggling to keep the skin on my face. struggling to keep my mouth shut. struggling to keep my lips from bleeding. cold and stiff no matter how many scarves I wrap around my neck. if only once, I’d like to hold someone in my palm, and not puncture them with my nails.

can I do this? can I forgive myself. for being difficult to love. for the bags under my eyes. for keeping my hands in my lap. for staring at my feet. for walking awkwardly. for the empty bottles in my room. for not doing what I’m supposed to do. for not doing what I’m not supposed to do. for everything I said. I wish I didn’t say it. I wish I said it differently. I wish I could find my head. I wish I didn’t rather hate them and throw up guilt and angst than forgive them. can I forgive myself for that? can I forgive myself for my rage. for my misery. can I forgive myself even though I can’t move. can I cut the ivy around my wrists.

can I do this? can I hold you like this. does it hurt.

I wouldn’t say you saved my life that summer, but I did find a new one. looking through archives, so many of these date back to June. so much to say about June. I hope I never run out.

November dragged me along, part of me still retreating. still dreaming of the water. lazy days and nights on the couch. dozing off to the rhythm of your breathing and waves hitting the dock. I held the world down in the lake and it drowned without a sound. I watched it drift to the bottom and imagined my body there instead. I knew it would haunt me now. I’m still running.

but can you believe it. you were all the more radiant, isolated in our peace. you couldn’t blend into a crowd if you tried. I wouldn’t say you saved my life that summer but I was half dead when I met you. and now I’m dreaming. half a world, half an eternity away.