This didn’t start with casual sex
it was just a moment in a long string of moments that will end in our death
I gave you my scarf because I wanted it back
Worrying is the last thing on my mind because you’ll be on your back again & I’ll
be waiting
The best part about you is that I don’t have to see you naked
You should have seen the look on your face just now
I know you want this to be an indy film but it’s real life
Remember when I bathed you with oil
Powdered & lotioned you & now after you don’t believe it ever happened
You’ll never hear the end of this & I’ll never let you
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Though they didn’t know how precarious their future would actually be. Promises, like everything else in
their lives, would begin to mean less and less. Meanwhile, the balance of the checkbook was
being rounded up on a weekly basis.
Is It Fucked Up In Here Or Is It Just Me
I want you to wrestle me to the ground like a steer
Take this & tie me up like a string of fish
Pet me like a lamb
As if I’m wounded as if I’m the only thing to eat as if I’m the only thing you’ve
ever killed
Hover over me
Look in my eyes as you pray for this
I hate it when you forget
When I gave you a piece of my veal you first asked what it tastes like
I told you it tastes like you
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They felt as if they were grackles; a small horde of loud.
O! Soaking Wet Dreams
I like when you scratch my fingertips with your fingernails
Do you really think you’ll blank me the way I want to be blanked
You meant to say need need to be blanked
Your bruises would be nothing without me
My bruises would be self inflicted without you
Because I consider this body an overly elaborate & better looking effigy of
myself that I want to burn on the end of a pole & place it in the middle of
my bedroom
I woke up with words all over my body
& the stains on the ceiling swirls of dank yellow match the stains on the bed
I explain all of this line by line in the notes section
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They thought the missionary position would be the longest remnant of colonialism or the most relevant example of
boredom. They thought “control” was a myth. They thought things through with the promptness &
efficiency of a delivery truck.
Dear Body
Undoubtedly this will spoil you
You will be pillage you will be treasure
You will be the filigree etched
into the silt on this greying windowsill
Or the gravel pitch and the pickled car tires strewn throughout
This will convince you that you deserve every meaning of the word
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Before either of them had thought about melancholy, about their relation to each other as a source of disconnection
from the world, they often told lies to one another, though only figuratively: “this is not a lie,” they would
say. They never spoke lies in the literal sense of the word.
My Head Might As Well Be a Kite
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