Psychosensory Hygiene (you were never too good with words anyway)

And you wrote:
"The falling out with her left me to grieve about as much as I did when I fell for her"
in this dream I unfolded, crumbled, flattened, refolded this letter you had written me.
Explaining yourself and how you felt.
This postcard from you was in my handwriting.
And I woke
thinking:
Fuck. I really wanted you, secretly, to love me.
What a silly thing, my subconscious.
And I walked
around my apartment for about 40 seconds
mourning the you I had invented
in this dream.
Terrible practice of mine.
I'm trying to remember if there's anything I had left at your place.
Hating the fact you've only been to mine twice and you're broadcasted everywhere.
Being in love with you is a heavy business and requires radical disinfecting.
My apartment is a calamity and I'm not even sure what to bleach first.
Sitting in front of my computer I'm trying to mentally peel you off of every artifact scattered around this tiny room (it's a start)
When I heard "knock knock knock"
Through the peep hole there stood a boy with my cell phone and two burned cd's.
I cracked open the door so he couldn't see
the
crash collision and catastrophe,
which was my living room.
And he spoke:
"Don't ever leave without saying goodbye. I woke up *turns head rapidly side to side* wondering where you had gone."
And I smiled
and was taken back by complete surprise
that it was even possible while I'm grieving for you.
I shut the door, after he kissed his fingertips and pressed them on my deploring lips
and thought I'm going to rearrange this residence
maybe with the displacement of my furniture I can displace the fact that
you were never too good with words anyway.

Prepare for Monsters

Good Morning

That’s never happened

Op Iv bracelet, realizing the week’s closing in on me.

Outside blinding bleached cold

Searing retinas and instant headache

Don’t spin out, don’t spin out.

An impulse buy

Danny, have I told you I’m in love?

Yes, you have.

Tried popping off fake fingernails

“Idk what we are talkin bout”

Tried writing

“Still high off you”

Ran my hand down Justin’s back

Apologized

Was it an accident? I couldn’t even tell you.

A pint of ice cream

And then, I set the last egg in the cardboard box

The last envelope in the secret box

The last key in the locked box

Took off into night hours, really thinking

I’m not leaving.

I tumbled into last minute plans

Cherry wheat, I can drink that.

Spaghetti, I can eat that.

Op Iv, the week.

Jonathan Kelley.

And he asks me what’s wrong.

Nothing.

Seriously.

Nothing.

Sunnie.

There’s this guilt I have

I’m always responsive, not because I want to

But because it’s become compulsive.

If you don’t answer back, bad things happen.

Like those weird scenarios you’ve been dreaming up before sleep

That have kept you up for weeks.

If you ignore the world

Act I will begin

and you’ll be left to wonder how the transition

from imaginary to substance

found it’s motivation.

I don’t like to tune out anything.

Basically, I don’t want to hurt anyone.

14 minutes later

Just disregard everything.

Fuck The Both of You.

And he says

“So what if they are? So what if they are.”

This white hot sick just dissolves my stomach

New Years, fuck.

He asked me over that night.

Seriously. So what if they are?

I’m going to assume because I’ve put that kid on hold

I see monsters falling out of closets,

I’m not safe because I told him no two nights in a row.

So now.

Now that you’re being thrown into the sea

Now that you can’t find anything to grab onto

Now that your lungs are voraciously flirting with salt water

Call him.

There was this voicemail I left, where I can’t remember a single word.

Something about “Good luck” and maybe a mention of me being really upset.

I may have ended it with a “See ya around”

His response: “Not sure what to think about your ringtone”

And

“I’m going back to sleep.”

So what if they are?

Alright, now you need your present.

It’s the prettiest wrapping I’ve probably every seen

No joke, I don’t want to touch it.

And there’s this shredded paper that reminds me of crinkle fries.

A journal.

I cried

She’s taking them down one by one

I guess I should thank her.

The ones left standing, are really fucking standing.

So what’s the plan?

I watched knives being heated up on the stove.

I didn’t know kids even did this.

Lying on the couch just handing him entrails

This is what’s really wrong.

This is why everything is such a big deal,

Because it’s not really.

It’s just easier to focus on

Because it’s manageable and trivial.

It’s just sex.

It’s just your feelings.

It’s just two people.

Two other people.

So what if they are?

Click Click, each light has a switch.

That guy had my kidney’s in his pockets

And small intestines around his neck while we snuck out.

Heater on blast

Recalling my morning

“Have I told you I’m in love?”

Nobody really likes that word.

I’ve made it into a hobby.

Now I’m facing the night alone

Don’t worry

Just write out as much as you can.

He called himself a life preserve.

Is that anti-irony?

The Sun’s coming up.

We made it alive.