you looked at me as if i were a sin.

it wasn’t about what we were doing.

It was me.

i was the wrong thing,

the forbidden fruit.

the thing that made you swallow your saliva until you were sick,

the thing that made you sleep on the edge of your bed frame.

you held me as if i were a wooden cross that you couldn’t carry.

you were a false prophet and i was a crown of thorns.

she was isaac and i was the lamb.

i was the thing that needed to die,

the thorn in your side.

but i was not a thing.

there was no cross.

there was no slab.

you were person

and i was a person.

did you know that?

do you know that?

i deserved to be more than your sacrifice.




my sense of sexuality is a spiral of sex with sweaty men

and girls who flirt in a foreign language.

what are you saying?

i look into your eyes as i bite the opposite end of your hot dog

and in another world i think i might kiss you if you’d let me.

would you even want that?

would i even want that?

how do i know if i really want anything?

sometimes i’m afraid i’m building a box around myself and i don’t know it.

i pray that god gives me the key

but i don’t really think god makes keys.

he just makes bigger boxes.



gone skiing

i don’t think you’re funny


you can’t just tell me you’re moving to colorado

and expect me to ask if you’ll ski.

i don’t care about colorado.

i care that you’ll be in colorado

and i’ll be here.

first it was time.

six months.

every day together.




six months again.

now space.

a thousand miles.

soon there won’t be traces of you.

there will be bones.


i’m so tired of bones.



gone again

about a year


yeah, but it’ll be good money


but a year is a long time

twice as long as the first six months

fuck the money

why do you have to leave?

we don’t even speak

why is my skin begging you to stay?

why did you even tell me?

who am i to you?

what am i?

why are you still doing this to me?

doing what? you would say

and i would say





you don’t miss me

and that’s okay.

i don’t need to cross your mind

to exist.

i’ll be okay.

even if sometimes it makes me sick to my stomach.

even if it makes me curl up like an insect being prodded.

you don’t miss me and i’ll survive it.

i’ve been surviving it.



if we were

if i could be you

for only a moment

i’d drive to my apartment door

and tell me i’m so fucking sorry.

i’d tell me that it’s true,

i didn’t feel the way i did.

but i’d tell me i tried.

if you were you, though,

you’d go to colorado

and you’d never call.

you’d just disappear.

and if i were me

i’d be so angry.





just a guy writing some sad poetry