You shouldn't have followed me. We drink cough syrup with anesthetic teens and their dirty tired blood diamond eyes. We watch them eat domestic stabbing victims in the cellar. They flood the streets with barracudas that congregate on the rotten teeth dangling from their abandoned teeth. Hang me from the power lines, these decrepit vines transmitting backstabbing gossip speak. And don't tell me you love me. Tangle in sentence fragments about loss, and baiting on thunderstorms. Because there can only be so many times that the sky disappoints me. Turn your naked back to me, so I can kiss your ribs and confuse our finger tips. "You look sick," she says. "Darling, you look sick." We watch ourselves sleep, feeding our palms to bear traps to settle our aching nerves. I am sick. Oh baby, I'm so fucking sick. I want to reach my hand down my throat and pull out my stomach and feed it to the trees. Just to keep the peace, and remember me. Don't tell me you love, please don't tell me that because I'm sick. And I'm just so, so fucking sick.

Forget my face; but count my fingers Whisper my name, but forget your consonants We are comatose oceans, we breathe hypoxic waves Broken wood planks, and splinters in my bones Chips missing from my teeth like old china in decrepit armoires Unsnarling the vines of ivy from your hair we breathe like broken ghosts while the sea dabbles in consistency We watched a single arm stretch across the night sky, its two finger claw dipped in blue and black inks. I considered spilling my iris into a thimble to contribute, but my blues aren't the right hue so I searched for the color of another's eyes in the stagnant headlights of a highway. and I couldn't find them. I couldn't find you.

We hollow out our guts and place our urns inside We encourage eating disorders, we encourage eating disorders You’ve got the key to my front door it’s buried beneath my wrist Every night is a fashion show, without clothes, without our clothes An invitation to an after party of broken glass We hollow out our guts and place our urns inside We encourage eating disorders, we encourage eating disorders I'm a disaster, your bodies an artwork, I want to make a mess of it we're gona make a mess of it Your goodnights are late hangovers, an abortion of suicide notes You’ve got the key to my front door, it’s buried beneath my wrists Inside it’s all accents and lies and the changing color of your eyes Landscapes. Landscapes, welcome home, welcome home. Couldn’t see you behind the notes, over the type writer keys behind my eyes. We’ve locked up the closet doors to get high on the urchins that feed from our bloody nose, but if you’re not feeling well you can sleep in my clothes, but stay. Stay. I’ve spent too many mornings alone, studying the blood that blooms roses on our pillowcase. My mattress is a dead letter office, it says If I’m a scarecrow, then you’re a scarecrow I’ll follow behind, picking up the pieces that fall From your body.

Bring your deflated saints to my front porch. Our children are hungry and I can’t sew myself to you when my hands need to hide my face from the dirt and the rain. Every ceaseless clock devours mercy, your fingers are my past haunt There are sunsets in whispers, secrets behind our fingers But you’ll never know. You’ll never know. I woke up this morning Breathing in an ocean through our garden. Through our garden. We’re fading like paintings, left out in the rain. Our colors are worn, the night won’t breathe in with me. Our sleep is sickness, but you’ll never know. Can you find gospel in this torn throat of mine? I still have your words buried in my palms with the broken glass like the notes you left between the pages of a book, they keep me honest and if I’m honest I drink more than not anymore with mouthfuls of broken twigs beneath my tongue, draining rivers and building dams to stifle every secret I could offer up. Because I saw you looking at me from across the trees, but you weren’t close enough so I ignored you and I’m so sorry I ignored you. I fed my hands to the ruins of a church Made me promise not to speak again Lions grow dilapidations There's a prison in my lungs