i have made peace
living in perpetual suicide
for i have sold myself
into routine of appliance
cycling through use and injury
burning muscle as memory
sustained upon withdrawal’s need

embraced in the unfairness
of anger unwillingly inherited
as it is for all who care
to accept that chance is all
they have to hold onto
until it slips upon its own volition
in repetition of god’s dependency

we laugh because it hurts
and we have exhausted ourselves
building any other haven
adjacent our self-made absurdity
bodies foundationing bodies
collectively reaching for nothing
unfinished pillars to heaven

i don’t want to be beautiful
my future is broken
teeth on cement
so why should i try
to play the games
of those who live
for their own
masturbatory predation

i want to be undesirable
rejected, untouchable
too hollow to pilfer
too coarse to rape
enough to make a necrophiliac sick
at the very thought of it
a leper unsalvageable
by even the most christly touch

i want to be safe
but i can’t be
plagues know only want
so for the rest
we must remain
fawns bred to be prey
learning to swallow glass
so it hurts when they bite

the problem with safety
is that your body
finds time to learn
what it is to mourn
everything that has been
and will always be
without distraction
without alleviation
you are forced to listen
to every word built up
either spoken or missed
all of their truth and anger
each and every psalm
from a mouth that only knows
the violence of remaining
in patterns you try
desperately to unlearn
hereditary or blindly embraced
between delusions of immortality
or intrusions of suicidality
and you want to listen
as much as you want to bite back
against teeth stronger than yours
tearing at the sides
of your prefrontal cortex
until the light grows numb
against your burning pupils
and you retreat once again
into the comfort of disorder
if it means you’ll sleep again

if you are tired and turning
to face the window only
to see your trembling eyes
smeared across the tar
under tyre marks, under rain
then maybe it’s easier
than picturing perfectly
their bodies intersecting
like yours cannot intersect
under claw marks, under linen

and you hate yourself knowing
that you were above this
until you weren’t anymore
and you don’t know what to do
to get back to that point
or who to be, or who you are
you’re feeling too much
and it’s not your fault
but it’s your responsibility
and it hurts but you can’t let it

you’re joking with yourself
to pretend like they’re not
laughing and pointing
tying knots over your oesophagus
in your head, in your circus
clownfaced in your selfishness
every projection counting down
the limit on their patience
before the room is empty again
and you’ve only got you left

somewhere along the hidden lines
of where your bones find unity
you’re waiting on what’s not there
slow death counting down your ribcage
squirming against your insides
what is there to pull from?
but the dirt and gnarled roots
encircling your enfeebled heart

where have your thoughts lead you?
an incessant taste of sick
pressing against your throat
it holds you like a drought
dead leaves choking out the gutter
rumination straining out the colour
pale sunset pink scrying
through pressed crooked teeth

you’ve allowed yourself a candled wake
a practiced state of mourning
for everything that will and won’t be
so thoughtful, so foolish
bent into the shape of everything
you could ever hope to resemble
except for what is you
rotted, mangled, distorted

you are selfish sometimes
you chase a love that is not pure
you wish your cum tasted sweeter
than how you imagine hers
because you’re sick and greedy
and insecure and incomplete
a desire waning on performance
until there is nothing to separate
you from the endless imperfection
of anyone else’s flesh

douse the expectations in solvent
cloven insincerity perforating
through the threads pulling you
back together from disassociation
before strangling you
in its intoxicating possession
you linger in it long enough
until nothing else feels as normal
and you know better, but you don’t
a knot of hair caught in your throat

you no longer hurt yourself
but you do, don’t you?
you’re still a fawn
because you never were
anything else but afraid
you want to fuck it all away
your own symptoms of escape
everything learned against your will
hiding the heat behind your face
you can’t always stay this way

there is a faint dream
dancing upon the whirl
of your overtired eyes
and you ask yourself
do you feel deserving
of the sweat that drips
between her fingers
and spread across her lips?

is excess to quench
what you have missed
pretending to be anything
but subservient to instinct
beast, bitch, bend
to thy unfettered will
perchance to break
upon the edge

you wait so patiently
for the dark to pull you
down with it, but it won’t
because you need it so
and it doesn’t need you
only for the ache
to remain without remedy
pressing through your chest

maybe it will taste kind
when she decides to let you
lick the smirk of the knife
maybe it won’t matter
your thoughts are hers together
as long as she takes her time
and holds you closer
to the memory in mind

dine-in blue
apartment complexion
drunken truths
siphoned the blood out
your quivering clavicle
the devil in retrograde
asking why you stopped
chasing liquored narratives

you miss expensive drinks
midnight strolls between
unkind buildings
gnawing at your shoulders
a welcoming window’s glow
every one a fantasy
begging to be loved
by a stranger’s poetry

it’s always outside
staring in
you don’t
have any friends
because you can’t
let yourself
trust anything
without invitation

a particular taste
for what ails
an empty glass halfway
past the condensation
of your starving breath
mist that claims
the space between
all that you have left

you stole their faces
and you learned
their languages
but your voice
doesn’t match their tone
and they don’t hear you right
when you open your mouth
to mimic the things they say
or maybe you just don’t understand

you ask yourself
“is this womanhood?”
as you go to piss
in a public bathroom
and a strange man
casts his shadow
staring and masturbating
and you pretend
like it’s all a dream

and you learn
how easy it is
to be liked
by strangers
when you’re pretty
like a girl
and your dick is big
and available
and desperate
for any attention

you’re worthwhile
until the amusement wains
it’s easy
to stop seeing
you as a girl
amab in drag
playing pretend lesbian
unlike them
you can’t fit in

sooner or later
you forget
your own movement
your permission
to speak
to look like anyone
in their own eyes
you relearn
it’s easier
to pretend otherwise

couldn’t make out
what you had said
hiding behind bergamot
incensed haze diluted
deep breaths pulled
back against the high
feeling our tongues tie
tangled in the other

silk threaded flesh
lacing through
honeydew strands
dripping down
from the shy gaps
in a mutual smile
form seeking reform
softest warmth adored

there is a place for you
in the tangle of us
undone, under closed eyes
pulling closer, pushing out
whatever breath is left
to yield in silence
i will keep it closer
our home in one another