I am searching for something that doesn’t exist

a secret that lives somewhere between
dusk and “I miss you”

hidden in that small voice in the back of your head
that whispers “you’re missing something” or
“what have you forgotten?”

an unexplored part of the pacific or the atlantic
or something in between I never could fathom –
maybe it says “you’re getting colder”

a memory (or was it a dream?) about that time
you gave me some small part of you
but I can’t find it now
and I’m looking in all the places you told me to put it

I am searching for something that doesn’t exist
because I swear there has to be something else

some innuendo dripping in ink still wet
spelling out all the ways I failed you
or maybe

after every wretched moment

there really is nothing at all


Your city is 2,192 miles from mine, so why
do I feel you trying to crawl into bed with us, clawing the
sheets away from my naked body, pushing yourself closer
to him, wrapping your arms around his chest possessively,
as if he were yours to begin with.

Desperation clings to your skin like yesterday’s perfume,
coating the oxygen around us with toxins, permeating everything
like so much smoke from a fire you lit yourself. And I
wonder if my name tastes as bitter in your mouth as
yours does in mine.

I hope it does.

I hope you choke on it.

Fragments of Me in You

It gets better. You will not feel this inexorable poison flooding your veins for the rest of your life. It does get better. But then it gets worse. One day you’re feeling buoyant and happy and the next you’ll wonder how you’ll persuade your muscles to propel you out of bed. It will be as if the pain never really did leave you, but rather simply took a break to regain its strength. You’ll wonder where the fucking light switch is when you need it and you’ll wonder how in the hell people put up with you anymore and you’ll bury the feeling that you’re really actually dying underneath piles and piles of sweat soaked sheets smelling of sex and silence. And all at once, after the sex and the cigarettes you’ll never actually smoke and the room full of crumpled litanies, you’ll feel okay again. You’ll find solace in the scent of his skin on yours and the taste of the fall days rolling by in a haze of vanilla lattes and in the way you’ll fall into an idea, running for years with it clutched within your desperate fingers. You’ll be okay until you’re not. Savor your fall days and lattes and ideas. They’ll be there until they’re not.

Basic Need

The shadows in my eyes are
Screaming that I need you so much
Closer than your current state of
Slinging away
Kilometers away and
Thinking nothing of it
And I’m thinking how you don’t know
My favorite color or
What love means to me or
How much I fucking need you
With me in this bed
Kissing me until I bruise purple under you