she said i wasn't there. she needed more, more, more.

the laser script inside the diamond read this is where she settled
tell paul i almost buried her twice between the echoes
of bell tolls cut quiet violence is a lonely expression
she don't love you if she wouldn't gut you and hang you with your lower intestine

estranged, framed in negative space.

sleeping alone FUCKING sucks. i'm seriously convinced that it can cause cancer.

SKECH185 + Lamon Manuel = Frank McIntyre

you can feed 'em force in courses, gorge and swallow the cynics
or blow a mushroom cloud kiss and tell 'em cholera did it
this is no parade for corpses, operetta of gimmicks
score to whistle at white women all in honor of emmett

blah, blah, blah. rap stuff.

interracial tattoo/album cover love connection.

connect the scabs to spell estrangement.

july 4th, 2007 - at a rooftop party with david, and maybe samantha. on the phone fighting with meredith.

entangled in a graveshift made to get the best of you. forever's not a promise. it's the first push of an exit wound.

what's most important - vol. one

some shit i'll never finish, because i don't write poems.

the prompt was to write about an intimidate moment with a lover, using objects and our senses to describe what it felt like. this is what came out. there is clearly something wrong with me.

this is the sound of a collarbone
being kissed with a rusty axe

a shark in a drowned nursery

three sharks cornering a swan
mouthing her wingless

the scrape of one vulture's tongue
across a quivering thigh

sweat as a line of defense

my coat of arms is a monkey knife fight for who gets the better typewriter.

"Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."
-Gene Fowler