i.

i feel your hands

coming from my own,

even as they

touch my face (and linger there),

feel you like an

absence, like an

echo, like a

mem’ry, and

you’ve been gone and you’re gone and you’re

going.

you are going

so much.

ii.

—the kind of empty

that pulses through your chest,

aching,

echoing through all the

empty spaces—

iii.

and i miss you like

growing up

(growing out of people)

(things and music and loves)

(books and smiles and)

(people)

and i miss you like

growing old

(memories barely there, anymore)

(the love still strong, but like an)

(echo)

(i’m not quite all here)

iv.

how have you been doing? they ask.

i’ve been thirty-seven days with zero beads, i want to say.

i’ve been hungry and i haven’t eaten in hours, i want to say.

i’ve been feeling so empty and i can’t fill myself back up, i want to say.

i can’t stop seeing accidents in front of my eyes, i want to say.

i can’t stop envisioning death, i want to say.

i can’t stop i can’t stop i can’t stop, i want to say.

just a little tired, i say.

v.

i hope you all got some rest and recharged this weekend, my teacher says.

i grin across the room to the other students,

as if this secret we’re all in on

is a good one to keep—as if it’s

something to be proud of,

to have so many sleepless nights

and early mornings.

vi.

these voices in my head

trap themselves in the crevices of

my mind—they come out to play,

preying on the weaknesses,

until i cover my ears with my

hands and close my eyes, shout

as loud as i can, “SHUT UP,

SHUT UP, SHUT UP!”

and i hold off the tears,

fold my heart back into my chest,

and say, “IT’S FINE IT’S FINE IT’S FINE I’M OKAY, YOU KNOW?

CAN’T YOU SEE I’M FINE, I’M SO

FINE, I’M DOING SO WONDERFUL!”

(i forget not to yell)

and it’s already nine pm,

time passing

in ways that feel unnatural.

the songs—one minute,

two point five,

three minutes long, at most,

reads spotify—last mini lifetimes,

each ten, fifteen, twenty

minutes a piece

(pulling me through time

(like i’m unwilling)

(am i?)

and the breath in my lungs

feels held tight (breathless) in steel hands

disguised as ribs (as lungs) i feel like

stone. encased. there resides a snake in my

stomach (and is it me?) is it me?

can you feel it, feel this snake as it writhes,

can you feel it when you reach for my

soft belly (skin and flesh and blood and organs) like

a stranger reaching for

soon-mother’s womb?

can you feel it, honey?

and who have i become,

with eyes trained on the blood,

with eyes searching for the open spaces,

and do i want to know who she is,

this girl who looks for these things,

who sees these things and doesn’t look away?

and is this really blood that

pools in my mouth, hangs over my tongue,

or is it in my head

(is the pain radiating from my jaw

(the pressure of the weather—again—

(or is it in my head, too)

“seventeen goldfish,” i say. “you could fit

“seventeen goldfish in your pelican’s mouth, i think.”

(the snake is vicious) (it writhes) (i miss the sound of your voice)

the cereal is dry in my mouth (like cotton)

i feel like (clown in clown car)

(in the place where you’re supposed to fit)

(but you don’t, not really, not anymore,)

(not with this snake. not with your bones.) i’m driving

at sunset

but i’m not sure

who will be there, when i

arrive home—if anyone will be

i think i’m afraid of driving

(can hardly even sit in the passenger’s seat

(anymore. with the way i’ve become so

(scared. see the truck crashing into us, mom,

(even as we turn onto a new street

(and drive far away from it? don’t you see it, too, the way

(the cars turn towards us, engines louder and louder

(as they come closer—don’t you feel it, the way the metal

(splits your skin? the way the glass

(carves you up? because i feel it. i feel it.)

(i feel it.)

i miss the sound of your voice. the way

we used to speak. now, hardly every time we do,

my skin crawls. (i love you.) i feel bright green worms

press up against my skin. (i love you.) i feel the bright green worms

dig and bite, dig and bite—dig and bite. (i love you.) i miss

talking to you. (i love you.) i want the bright green worms to

go away. (i love you.) i want the snake to

go away, too. (i love you.) i want my bones

to stop their aching. (i love you.) i want to stop

being afraid. (i love you.) i like the sounds of this music, the way it

presses

against

my skin,

closer

than the

worms.

i like the way the sounds

push at my bones, push

at the snake. i like the way

they suppress the things i

feel and think (until they don’t)

(until they last) (for far too long)

i like the way i almost feel normal,

normal—like my bones don’t

hurt, like my skin doesn’t

feel so bad, like my head doesn’t

feel so awful. feel so small.

(i miss you.)

and it’s ten pm already

and the time has gone so fast.

writing this felt like

seven minutes,

not

whatever fifteen plus twelve minutes

is

there is a tightness in my chest,

pulling spine into the ribs,

collapsing self from inside out

(remove the old leaven)

(the leaven of evil)

and the hollow aching in my

bones makes me feel brittle, feel

young and old (“it feels so scary,

getting old”), feel left behind and

lonesome (work the old out)

(fill in the gaps with Christ).

the bread is beginning to mold.

i.

and things became better

and things became worse

and things became better

and things became worse

and i didn’t write at all

for what seemed like months, like years,

until someone told me to fill my sponge

with so much positivity

that it drowned out the negatives

and i could write

(as much as i used to,)

(as often as i could)

i.

push

and pull

and hold still,

(a silent yank of this tether

in the pitch-black starry dark

is the only sign that

you’re still out there)

ii.

there is the

unsteady thrumming of my heart

sounding in this small bit of

darkness

that is

paired with the aching plea that

it echoes (after) (before) (with) yours

iii.

(i miss you) (the sound of your voice)

(the way you spoke to me) (your slick-beat-forth smile)

iv.

and as ironic as it is—

as i always used to doubt it, even

with you so near—

there’s this wild, burning, blind

—trust—

that you’ll pull me back to shore,

back to safety, back to home,

(back to you)

v.

overwhelming, this ache of a

blue-black night is—

bitten lips bleeding lavender anxiety

and pale blue-pink

palms sweating nerves and hasty words—

like thick smoke through lungs,

or ancient memories in your head

of times and peoples you’ve left far behind

vi.

i’ll grab your throat in my hands,

gentle and suffocating,

and tell you things you’ll think are stupid

(if i ever own a pig, i’ll name him percy)

(i miss you and i feel it in my bones like growing up)

(sometimes my chest feels like the sky—gaping wide and long, burning everlasting)

then i’ll let you go, folding my

hands tight to my chest (like childhood) and

take a big long breath (split the air with the gaps i leave behind)

and hold it as i wait to see

whether you stay or leave

i.

head is heavy,

pierced and hung

with rusting silver hooks,

a beaten, bruised box

of twisting counter-thought,

wrought in aching anguish

ii.

I CANNOT BREATHE

THROUGH IT ALL

iii.

mind is twisting,

kaleidoscoping,

losing vibes to reality,

iv.

and i see your face,

a waking moment,

a lapse in judgement,

v.

and i collide—burning star—into you,

splitting time and space

between my staticky fingers

and i clutch our throats, burning twin ropes

so deep into our skins

that all i’ll hear

for centuries

is your hissing screams

vi.

head is twisting around and around,

spinning until all is blur,

great, wild, unknown,

but your words,

keeping me aground,

with a soft eye-close,

picture of perfect safety,

skin numbing to outsides in

a trusting let-go of surroundings,

of knowns,

of reality,

vii.

AND I PULL ON THE

BLACK-WHITE TETHER,

REACHING INTO DARKNESS BEYOND,

HOPING YOU’LL PULL ME BACK

viii.

“i’ll be dreaming my dreams with you” (“dreaming my dreams” by the cranberries)

ix.

HOW WILD AND NEW THIS

BLIND TRUST—BLIND WANT—

IS! (how i miss you)

(i think it is seen—)

(the great big hulking beast of unloved love)

x.

PULSE OF ACHING (TERROR) NIGHT AIR,

GAPING GASP OF BURNING SPACE

(I HOPE YOU PULL ME BACK TO SHORE)

(TO HOME)

(TO YOU)

i.

clouded vision,

spilling back through

pasts and presents,

dripping insanity

like tocks and ticks

of burnt-out clocks

ii.

overloaded,

overwhelmed,

i cannot count

iii.

breathless

beats

(count in time)

(make music with your lungs)

(or we’ll split open your chest)

(and play your ribs like a xylophone)

iv.

pulsing, breaking,

i cannot—breathe?

v.

pressed close, i am; every stall, every pause,

every broken, pulsing, heavy, anxious breath,

crushed from my accordion lungs

vi.

STILL, STILL, PLEASE STILL

MY HUMMINGBIRD WINGS

vii.

i am okay?

AM I? AM I?

viii.

pulled close, i am

blazing vessel

birthing burning melancholia

ix.

i am very tired—eyes closing

long against burning blue

blazing horizon that is the sky

x.

she pulses like

flaming pink

gem nested in the sky

xi.

cradle separate self into broken arms,

ask for clarity

xii.

soak up sun,

burn bright against

the empty night

(evidently)

xiii.

cautious steps

harboring all these

heavy thoughts—

xiv.

heavy, ANXIOUS,

EMPTY THOUGHTS

xv.

ROARING LUNGS

PLEAD FOR AIR

(PULSE? BREATHE?)

xvi.

pressing, rushing river

of juxtapositions squared,

and

i am pulled beneath the current,

held beneath the rough river fingers

against the boulders that lay,

nesting themselves into

the timeless river banks

xvii.

escaping selves to nest

in the spaces between

other people’s ribs—

xviii.

nobody notices—

(that’s okay, right?)

existence twisting

thorny vines ’round

my bruised and bloodied

form—

(that’s okay, right?)

(IT’S OKAY, RIGHT?)

xix.

can i be stronger than this?

should i try to be?

should i find some help—

or should i be made to

suffer through it all?

xx.

no one notices—

is this alright?

should i make myself

so terribly known?

xxi.

—i’m so sorry for ruining it all—

i’m so sorry—

i.

this feeling aches,

moans, presses deep,

pulls me close

ii.

i am so tired—

so tired, so tired

iii.

water rushing in my

ears, roaring melancholy through

canals to brain, sending shattering

pain through each responding wave

iv.

kaleidoscoping emotions

into heavy, burning

colors, blinding eyes

from the spinning

reality

v.

victim to my own

pressing, pulling

melancholy

vi.

hi, hello, hey

(it’s been so long)

—i miss you—

terribly—

vii.

i miss you!

false cheeriness—

pretending i’m not

overcome with this

wretched melancholy!

viii.

but i mean it, i mean it

in the worst of ways—

i miss you—

ix.

can we talk?

please? i do

not mind what is

said, just want to

see your name

jump across

my screen

x.

i’m swinging between

deafening silence

and overwhelming thought,

crushing existence

and burning apathy—

pushing

and pulling—

i cannot

b r e a t h e —

xi.

i don’t know what i want

(silence) (to not want)

(to be myself again)

xii.

i’m trying—i’m trying really hard—

xiii.

i have eradicated

all but a few wants

so i do not know what

it is i can answer you with

xiv.

why find help

when someone

else is a

lot more broken

than i?

xv.

how can i look forward to

anything at all, knowing

i’ll sabotage it, in the end?

xvi.

DO YOU WANT MY HEART OF HEARTS?

xvii.

i miss you terribly.

(please come back)

(please)

i.

you are quiet in your ways

(can you recognize my silence?)

ii.

i am so—

dumb (not in a mean way, simply fact)—

why must i act

this way?

iii.

WHAT IS THIS?

m e l a n c h o l y ?

m e l a n c h o l y !

iv.

i feel—i am—so sick,

but cowardice—doubt—fear

—anger—

grows like moss between

my aching bones

and i stubbornly “do not”—

do not!—do not!—do not!

v.

(stand alone)

(tame your thoughts)

(leave them on the ground)

(crush them beneath)

(the toe of your)

(shoe)

vi.

crumpled spine

like accordion—

play me loud in

front of biggest

crowds

vii.

(still)

(yourself?)

viii.

i’m so sorry

for throwing

my poisonous

purple claws

around your

already-bruised

neck, sorry

for letting my

anger seep

through my

words, to hurt

you (even if)

(you don’t say)

(anything about)

(it, but brush)

(away those)

(apologies, saying)

(that there’s no)

(need—but)

(it still hurts,)

(that anger, it makes)

(everything taste)

(so s o u r—)

ix.

LET it GO? (i’m sorry)

(i’m sorry) WHERE?

where should i put

all this melancholy?

where should i let myself

go, in a place where the

wreckage might not consume

anyone else?

(where?) WHERE? where?

x.

would that be okay?

with such anger, hurt,

and sorrow?

xi.

(I DON’T WANT)

(YOU TO KNOW—)

xii.

let me go!

let me free!

i do not wish to

hurt you with

who i’ve come to be—

i.

twisting,

falling through

the sky, reaching

right out to you

(to when have)

(you gone?)

so swift

in all your

“LEFT”s

and your

“LEAVING”s

(to when have)

(you gone?)

you do not reach

back through the

cloudless skies

towards me, but

i cannot seem to

pull back my

own hands,

too

(to when have)

(you gone?)

ii.

and i miss you,

i miss you, in

such a burning, aching

way

(i miss you)

(i miss you)

iii.

i wish you’d come back

(please, oh, please)

(come back)

iv.

i am singing melancholy,

melancholy,

m e l a n c h o l y