sometimes you haunt me
when I am drunk with too little sleep –
lost again in heaven somewhere on earth.
those nights are vexed with flashes
of crashing teeth,
tangy, cigarette-polluted breath,
and the thrum of your bluebird veins as you swallowed colorful narcotics by fistfuls.
again and again,
I binge your memory, purge
vibrations of your voice
blowing holes through my brain like
a paralysis seizes my throat
as reality creeps around me
in prickling thorns and
my nostrils wrinkle with the
unmistakable stench of your
it is 2:47 a.m. and I am completely alone –
swaddled in my own unrequited adoration,
shivering in frost-bitten rejection.
a slow, sluggish suffocation without your hands gripping my neck.
and still the slope of someone’s back might bewitch you to boil
rising like bile inside me.
split-tongued, venomous –
an entity digging sharp nails
into my spinal fluid.
memories of your gentle fingers come up like roller-coaster vomit.
I collapse under cracked bone in your
infest and ravage the clockwork of my skull,
passing a yellow fever through
can you blame me for being so
your swampy eyes must roll in
while I inhale wood chips,
exhale cotton swabs and
I am wide awake – numb,
dreaming of Robitussin
until pink-cresting daybreak.
every morning since you
my hair has been disheveled from
birds of longing
and not from your hands
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.