Her

In my head, there are millions of skins

touching me,

lying next to me in bed.

They can go away,

but they're never really gone.

I think about the girl that I was, 

the girl that could have been,

but she's so far away now.

She's walking home

with the man of her dreams

and feeding people on the street.

What was I then

that I'm not anymore?

How can I crawl back to that person

without bloodying my fingertips?

Without scraping my knees?

I'd walk to get there,

but I don't know which direction to go.

And so, the skin that was me,

the ghost that still dances by herself,

calls for me

screams for me

begs for me 

to come back. 

But I can't even hear her voice

anymore.

My Last Relationship

I've lost all my faith,

but,

you are my human,

the one that every prophecy

promised.

Who was I

before this moment?

Surfacing

The memories have been ripped,
drowned,
burned,
and buried alive,
but a quiet word
lets them gasp for air,
look around and say,
"I had the strangest dream."

Dreamwalkers

All of these things that were never here

are here still.

Voices creep through the air vents,

but the words don’t really sound like words;

A whisper cuts through them all:

Don’t bring tomorrow, it says.

Don’t bring tomorrow.

I know what’s going to happen,

and I walk on the shards of glass

anyway.

Ask me what poem the next night will bring

and my stomach twists in fear.

The only times I drown

are when I wade into the river

myself.

Night One

So far gone,

with more work at my wrists,

with the ghosts barely at bay,

and with vomit on my breath,

I lie down and wonder

if you would still want to kiss me

now.

Someday,

I will only have to ask the question

once,

instead of hearing its echo

over and over

in the cavern of your mouth.

Today is not that day

(tomorrow isn’t either),

but, for now,

you’re not allowed to want me

anymore.

Rejection

is a cold splash of water

to the face

and thinking,

“Well,

at least I’m awake now.”