sympathetic joy

You've got this picture of me 

heading straight for rock bottom

You caught me smiling

with a drink in my hand

You told me I’ve been going 

in the same direction

For the past two years

and the worst part is

You're probably right.

so,

When you say you're doing better

when you say you're doing fine

I wish I could say it didn't break my heart

every goddamn time

It's jealousy

this side of me

I should be better than six months ago

and all the slurry

Promises between you and me

i just can't seem to let go

And the worst part is

when you say you're doing better

When you say you're doing fine

i wish it didn't break my heart

I want to save you

even if I can't save myself

I want to save you

even if I can’t save anyone else

And when you say you're doing better

when you say that you're just fine

I wish I could lie. 

visionary

I’ve been faking all of my visions.
A false fucking prophet;
I am selling cynical snake oil and promises in exchange for progress.

You make beautiful things

The world is distilled in your veins as a drug

And your blood turns to watercolor

Saturating the canvas

When sickness takes root in your lungs

You cough poetry between gasps of air

Spitting truth into tissue

The ground’s pull is meaningless

But lifelines circle around you

Invisible

The captive temporality

Of your painted mind
Rests against reverence

synonym

Is the word frantic? It’s whatever keeps me hungry, quick to intoxication and slow to reason. It’s whatever keeps me holding to plans without realizing the damage they cause. My skin is fraying with the threads that hold my stitches.

Jump

I'm lost,

trapped on a ledge I didn't know I climbed,
waiting for your voice to tell me:
it's just a few feet off the ground. 

The fall won't hurt.
I don't trust you,

but I love you,

so I jump. 

Little steps

I am standing in front of a mirror, in a hotel room in Tennessee. I called my little brother to tell him that I wanted to hurt myself. He talked me off the roof; now I'm somewhere in the middle, at a height where the rocks would paralyze, but not quite kill me. The view isn't quite as good here. 

I spend my night nitpicking, memorizing every piece of me that I hate. The smell of my skin wanders into my nose and makes my stomach turn, reminds me of every warm mistake it's pressed against. I self-medicate with sleeplessness and stimulants. I am the healthiest strung-out alcoholic you know, always looking for a drug to pass the time. 

I thoughtfully chew the last of these little pills, waiting for my stomach to turn down the volume. My skull is a bitter echo chamber, but I don't even scowl when the chemicals hit my tongue. I'm proud of myself; it's the little steps toward self-control that count. 

frostbite

Grey masses cling to mountains as I close my eyes and revel in nothing. It’s either heat exhaustion or frostbite in this goddamn valley, and somehow it always takes me by surprise. If insanity expects different results from the same conditions, I should have been committed a decade ago. I squeeze my eyes tighter with each moment, hoping for a revolution: inside my head, or outside my window. I remember your voice shifting between drunken playfulness, somber sadness, pleading confusion. Your tears nearly brought me back, frozen with painful desire, but spiteful reflection shows me otherwise. Take a shot of bravery and promise me you’ll bring back summer before I open my eyes. Promise me anything, and I’ll swallow it whole.

fingertips

I think I'll count the ribs beneath your skin,

Circle shadows round your hips, 

Press a promise to your chest,

 and hold my breath. 

coastal

It’s the soundtrack to a memory.
hours of asphalt to California
you riding shotgun; my car as a Catholic confessional
strands of hair shooting sparks through open windows
screaming delirium, sober insecurity
clashing in a blacked out coastal kiss

Shuffle

My feet shuffle past your doorstep, concrete sidewalk meeting brass boots in a shower of apathetic sparks. I'm just trying to put on a show, keep the fucking lights on through winter, but there's a whiskey buzz that always seems to dim the energy. 

You're warm inside your cocoon of chaos, and I can see your window blinds strain to hold it all inside, keep the fucking lights on despite your childish belief that there's someone hiding in every shadow. 

We live in cold, intoxicated unreality, never sleeping, holding out hope that the lamp in the corner will keep us safe. My feet shuffle past your doorstep, inching forward relentlessly.