R.there is a man that lives inside my bones.More Like This
he tunnels through my ribs,
and he slumbers in my heart.
his eyes cut through me like ice.
his fingers play the same two chords,
my fragile veins are his keys.
he whispers into my ear while i'm asleep
there's a sadness in his voice
i can feel it in my joints.
he rests his tired eyes,
in the hollows of my clavicle.
he traces the freckles with his fingertips
i can feel the moisture from his eyes
drying into my skin.
the bath tub fills up with water,
and he sits on the sink.
he already feels like he's drowning
and the ivory is too lonely for him.
my eyes are blurry from the steam
i can still see him crying.
there is a man that lives inside my bones.
he comes to me when he's lonely,
because I am his
tremorscurled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out.More Like This
it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday,
when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers,
the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.
i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds.
funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better
when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips
made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm,
about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering,
well, there's this experience known as an aftershock.
hands clutching cold tile, water coming in spurts
from the faucet, i pretend that no one can hear me and bend my spine.
my thighs are still splotchy and red from bathing and jade green bruises
polka-dot my kneecaps.
sometimes i do things i don't think i should.
i've gotten used to