Poet

All writing belongs to me!

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

I’d tell you everything if only you’d ask.

(Not my photo)

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

The heat in northern Italy that summer had a way of making everything feel half-imagined, as though the light itself were feverish. In the crowded piazza beneath the shadow of the Fountain of Neptune, his skin glistened with sweat so luminous it looked holy, bronze beneath the collapsing Tuscan sun, and I remember thinking that desire could become a form of prayer if it suffered enough. We wandered nowhere meaningful, past shuttered cafés, past women smoking in narrow alleyways, past old men lifting their faces toward evening bells, carrying between us the terrible knowledge that this was already ending. His mother was dying somewhere in the south, her body thinning in a white hospital room, and grief followed him everywhere like a second shadow. Sometimes, in the middle of his laughter, I could feel it his memories bring him back to earth. Yet there I was, memorising the shape of his mouth, the damp curl of hair at the nape of his neck, as though tenderness could delay mortality. He laughed when I lifted the disposable camera to my eye, my photographs were small acts of desperation, proof that something had existed before it vanished. Later, in the cheap room with its open windows and the smell of heat rising from stone, he touched me with such unbearable gentleness it felt almost cruel. I think we both understood that longing is most beautiful when it has no future, when it burns itself alive in a single night and leaves the body aching like a cathedral after prayer. I think I loved him for twelve hours, drunk as I was, I am a well travelled woman.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

Sirens knot my hair with seaweed and sing your name back to me, over and over, until it drowns me. In other words I just want you so bad.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

You live in my dreams and I live up in the stars.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

I wrote you so many letters

But you never answered.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

We spent the summer buried in tall grass, smoking Mayfairs with trembling fingers, laced with the sugar-lie of quitting once the clouds returned in their September livery. We drank like the doomed beneath blue, godless skies, and shivered in denim jackets stiff with salt and sweat. Oh, we were splendidly wretched—snarling things with sailor mouths, truck-stop tongues, but mouths painted like petals and eyes flickering like moth wings in the dark. I’ll never call you back to me, not aloud—but sometimes, sitting alone on a bleached beach, nostalgia rises sudden as surf, curling around my ribs and stealing my breath for a moment brief and bitter as a kiss.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

Somehow it is February, the air hasn’t yet been freed of the January blues but I’m getting on with it. I miss old things, like open fires and dried flowers. My life took a turn in the summer, and then I got lost somehow. I don’t know who I am anymore, and I’m tired of pretending, all. The. Time.

It’s like I’m constantly acting in this never ending role and I just want to start over, or go back to when it wasn’t too late. I just feel indifferent to everything that used to make me feel everything. It’s this horrible limbo that I’m stuck in of making endless hollow art and acting like I give a fuck about anything. I don’t.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

Please

just

love me

like you

used to.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

They gutted her like a fish,

Body of of bloodless mannequin hearts and sacrificial lambs,

bandaged frostbit skin and the raw pink burn of it
screaming beneath the layers,

Her plastic skin melting, nose of candle wax 
seeping into the earth,

It’s all hunger now, a feast of herself,

She bit the hand of God—tasted the salt of His skin, the grit of heaven under her teeth-

What did he know of flesh? Of blood that pooled in bruises,

To bleed on the altar of mirrors and see no reflection,

Oh to be human,
to wear the weight of flesh, to bare the weight of vultures, your homeland population of winged carnivores,

She’ll never be full again—
they took too much, left her stomach
aching, empty,

Decaying between satan roses and pillows of down,

They packed her full of sweetness,
stuffed her mouth with sugar and lies,
but the animals smelled her first—
could taste the death, the sour sound of final rosaries,

They’ll dress the wound, paint her lips,
bloat her up with what’s left of living,
parade her down the streets,

But dead is dead.
And the wolves are circling.

Oh, to be human.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

I’m drunk and I just miss him so much it’s making me sick

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

When you strip the skin, he is just an animal, 
Bleary-eyed, lust-drunk, glorious.
From birth, he bites the hand that feeds,
Spits it out, and offers more.
Gluttonous, swollen, splitting at the seams.
And you—
Crawling, hands first, knees next—
Beg for love that will never find you.

Oh Christ, let him burn softly.
Send him down in cotton shrouds,
For no god forgives what’s rotted from within,
No god can salvage innocence decayed.
No holy hand can cleanse what’s already dust.

Bury him with blood diamonds,
With the hands that mined them,
Bury him in cages, rusted,
Still clinging to desire.

She will kiss him with vulgar lips,
Bite the apple, watch his hands burn.
He’ll pull her closer,
Rosary beads tightening around her throat.
The beads turn to thorns;
She crowns him with them,
Tattooing her name on his chest.

She will outdo him—
Sin for them both.
And he, just an animal,
Will let her.

[honestloverboy]

It would be really cool if I could stop randomly feeling insanely depressed out of nowhere

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

Half opened eyes, pink with nausea,

I open the bottles—

measure the ache with teaspoon precision

until I drown in the amber promises,

each drop an absolution

from the hollow skin of being.

But the body keeps breathing,
keeps dreaming in chemical silence,
where shadows wear your face
and mutter things you won't remember.

Somewhere between the cough
and the cure,
I’m floating—a psalm
written in codeine.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

I hear your voice in the hum of the fridge,
feel the ghost of your hand
rest on the pillow beside me,
warm and familiar,
as if you never left.

But you did, didn’t you?
You are smoke now,
whispers on a breeze,
and yet—there you are again,
turning the corner,
just ahead of me,
always one step
out of reach.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

I swear you were there—just for a moment, in the spaces between things. I saw you in the mundane, in the flicker of light dancing off a cracked windowpane, in the soft puff of clouds strung across the sky like some careless afterthought. You drifted through the day like smoke, always just beyond reach but close enough to feel. I caught glimpses of you in the shimmer of pavement after rain, in the way the sun curled around the edges of buildings at dusk.

You haunt the everyday. In the hum of traffic, the rustle of leaves, the pale gleam of early morning light as it cuts through half-drawn curtains. You are a shape in the fog, a shadow just beyond the edge of what’s real, always dissolving when I look too closely.

I swear you were there—tucked inside a passing glance, hidden in the rhythm of footsteps on the street, buried in the way the sky bruises before a storm. There’s a glint of you in everything, and though I can’t touch you, I feel you—constant, everywhere, and nowhere at once.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

We kissed like wolves—
Teeth first, hands desperate,
As if we could tear away the distance
With just a little more violence.
And wasn’t that our gift?
The way we ruined everything we touched
And called it love.

I think I loved you most
When I was bleeding—
When your hands pressed against my chest,
And I could feel the sharp edge of you
Digging deeper,
Begging for a little more flesh,
A little more blood,
As if we could keep ourselves alive
By becoming each other’s wounds.

[alwaysswr1t1ng]

Honeyed and heavy, clinging to my throat.

Lush as the first bite of forbidden fruit,

And I, thirsting,

Let you linger in my veins—

Until even the silence knew your name.