I wrote our end right smack in the middle of things, 

and I think that was stupid, an omen maybe. 

I was better at spelling bye then saying it – nothing good about it. 

Regret is a stupid emotion to go to bed with—cold, fingerless.

A period to the question mark I didn’t want answered. 

I don’t know the last thing I said to you. It’s annoying. 

I think it was something a long the lines of “your hair’s stupid.” 

Let’s hope I’m remembering that incorrectly. 

I had a hard time believing you would ever leave, 

you started to become a fixed entity. 

Built within the columns, the marble, think permanence: 

here stay remain see you soon later now never here here there 

you’re there now and it’s the end and i keep writing beginning poems, 

continuations, leaving ellipsis like trails to my bedroom 

but you know where to find me. You’re just not looking 

well good... 

You’re never where I want you to be 

never in the library when I go, 

hidden around corners, at tables alone, 

you're always leaving early, 

me waving to your back as you scoot out the door 

never an empty seat next to me in class 

sometimes i leave for a quick bathroom break 

when you’re still not there 

in half-hearted hopes you’ll be walking in 

as i’m rushing out the door 

and in the flurry 

we’ll crash into each other a little 

 you’ll catch me

two hands strong on wobbly forearms 

and we’ll just stand there, 

looking at each other 

I never know where to take the daydream from there 

so i just leave it 

with us frozen 

two feet from the door, 

eyes holding onto each other 

where are you always going?

Your eyes like ice on my cheek bones 

they burn anyways 

I’ve decided 

I can’t be a human around you. 

I think bones are interesting 

and to me 

that is anxiety 

to me 

you are anxiety compounded 

tall and wobbly

voice clear but unsure 

I want you 

so much 

my bones turn pink when you’re in the room 

it’s confusing 

this feeling 

lately you’ve seemed so angry 

every word drips with some sort of frustration

like accidentally putting pasta in a freezer 

and trying to eat it later

teeth-breaking 

I wish you smiled more 

chipped tooth top row one over from the middle 

lovely 

I think I really fucked up 

all you leave is holes 

in my shoes that snow can get through 

I blame you for frostbitten toes 

you were so cold last time we spoke 

I don’t think 

I can look at you any longer 

invisibility is a cloak I wish we could both

fit under 

I’ll ask harry potter for a loan 

I see all the mistakes I’ve ever made 

like red pen on white pages 

scratched across your forehead 

I think I’ve begun to hate you 

but it adds up 

’cuz you hate me too 

and hey 

remember that time 

I made you laugh so hard you collapsed 

on the desk 

hit your nose 

and there was all that blood? 

I think that stood for something

I miss you 

so much

sometimes

it hurts

Looking back 

I don’t think you had a shadow

maybe it was always just wandering off, 

looking at garden songs

sniffing for music notes, 

lazy and unamused 

but I loved just being around you 

 There was nothing to follow, 

you never left any footprints 

I keep walking down old trails 

hoping to find a little x with your initials in it 

a destination I can trace back to 

Where are you now? 

 I thought your laugh was 

a layer cake of echoes

they followed me 

sweet and delicious minutes after 

so rich, 

I’ve forgotten the exact notes, 

maybe you can remind me 

map it out on sheet music, 

sketch out the octaves, the arcs, the reverberations, 

why was it so enchanting? just a laugh yet 

I always knew you were leaving 

but it still struck me as unexpected, unjust maybe 

that last time you said ‘nice knowing ya’ 

and I just kept looking back, 

falling over sidewalks and rust particles 

the back of your head was exceptional 

half-shaved with a flop of hair on top 

I haven’t seen a cut like it since 

you’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to 

let go of the vision just yet 

I loved your taste in music

everything was the cure and the kooks

and you meant it so sincerely

it wasn’t hipster douchebag pretentious

I could feel every beat go through

my toes to my eyebrows

you were in every note

and I was always nodding along

never in tune but dancing most times

when I was okay being alone and you in a different room 

sometimes I dream

your limbs distort to 

the shape of snakes

& we never

made any sense  

but wasn’t it lovely 

all the same? 

we spilled sphagetti on the rug, 

and nobody

picked it up 

we just kept fucking 

on the couch above it 

spill tomato sauce 

all over me. I don’t care

that’s how I want our love to be 

dirty 

and smelling a bit too much 

like

onions than either of us 

is comfortable with.  I don’t mind, 

as long as there’s some

sweetness 

to balance

out the spice 

I’ll be the linguini

to your fusilli, 

drape me

around 

the smallest of your bends, 

or the other way around— 

I like all kinds of pasta. 

we can draw a heart

in the tomato sauce, 

let it stain the carpet 

then twirl

me around 

the twines

of your fork 

 and eat me 

for breakfast 

lunch 

and dinner 

spilling red 

everywhere

and I touch 

and you touch

and touch 

and

touch and

smelling like tomatoes 

close the curtains 

if you want

we perform 

better in the dark 

anyway 

The films starts with a young eager looking Leonardo DiCaprio. He throws the covers off him and emerges from bed in a suit and tie. He drinks a cup of orange juice and thanks God he is alive. He goes to the Oscars and smiles at everyone, even his competitors. When his name is called in the nomination, he tells himself he doesn’t expect to win. When the award goes to a 200 year old wizard called Gene Hackman, he tells himself it’s okay and goes to bed happy. He wakes up a little bit older, his hair longer. He emerges in a suit and tie, a little rumpled. He gulps down coffee, black, and goes to the Oscars, nods at everyone, even his competitors. When the nominations are called and the award goes to Keanu Reeves, he breaks into a violent coughing fit but otherwise retains composure. He goes to bed, tossing and turning, and jumps up the next day in his suit but forgets the tie. He slips a shot of vodka in his glass of OJ and two in his cup of coffee. He takes his seat in the Oscars and doesn’t talk to anybody. When his name is called in the nominations for Best Actor and Meryl Streep wins, he kicks a chair over and cuts out. He wakes up the next morning, pours a little bit of orange juice into his vodka, skips the coffee altogether, and goes to the Oscars. His eyes are closed when his name is announced as a nomination and the award goes to Donald Trump for Best Actor in a Documentary that Disguises itself as Reality. Leonardo takes the flask from out of his pocket and downs the whole thing in one quick gulp, using his suit jacket to wipe up the dribble. The next morning, his orange juice goes untouched; his suit lays in a pile on the floor. And when his name is called at the Oscars, he's still in bed sound asleep. When he wins, everyone applauses, even his competitors. Somebody gets up to accept the award on his behalf, wondering why he didn’t think to show up.