#what returns

[harmlesscigarette]

I become a boy who touches the backs of strangers' necks in public--in love with the soft of his own throat.

“What Returns,” Cameron Awkward-Rich

[aradicalname-wells]

So now winter is a place you visit, but don’t belong to. You pass the time in a room that isn’t childhood, but does that matter? Your mother is still down the hall, and you are still watching men on screen break into other men, and the once snow-field of your body becomes a flood that ruins you each night. You thought you were finished with desire. And what a relief. To not want to reach outside your skin. To touch what isn’t yours, or anything at all. To not be a tongue in a glass jar in an ocean. But the pills make you dream in oceans. You wake up crusted with someone else’s salt. You become a boy who touches the backs of stranger’s necks in public, in love with the soft of his own throat. This makes every man on the train into something that could kill you. Don’t worry, that’s a good thing. It means you got on the train. It means you still have a body.

"What Returns", by Cameron Awkward-Rich 

via The Bakery - http://www.thebakerypoetry.com/what-returns/