belly full of butterflies.
buried in boxes.

blurry eyeballs
and
broken blue vase.


moving is for the birds.

this is number 15.

it's all happening.

i'm moving.
to brooklyn.
this weekend.





so happy.
so nervous.

this is the beginning of everything.

all of these dreams.
caught up in my head.

i feel like my brain is bleeding.
but
the liquid is clear.
and
it burns my eyes.

still.

i just want to stop shaking.
and
shivering.


re-learn everything.

beginning with breathing.

the moon is on a string.
as
the skyline fades.

my lips replicate its crescent.

with a stamp that reads "highline" on my inner right wrist.

one of those LIRR feelings.

above the tallest man on earth.

i want to marry the guy that makes these.

math and whittling are two of my favorite things.

whiskey in my boots.
wet with cold rain.
at the game.

4 train to Union Square.
oh, Union Square.
i will not let you remind me.
(although it is a similar rainy friday night.)

$10 songs.
undressing
and
dressing.

the sweat on my chest.

alligator/crocodile debate.
as we wait.
it devours me in bronze.


i am not magnetic.

my heart has been racing.
constant.
beatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeat.

it's in my ears.
and
my feet. wobbling.



the truth must be known.
it was the most real lie ever lived.




it's either the cigarettes.
or.
i'm dying.

the first band whispered, "you can't be a soul mate if you don't have a soul."
downtown.
with a canadian smoking american spirits.

he wants to heal me.
i want him to hold me.

drunk off a sip of light beer.
it's been days since i last ate.

the last band shouts, "there is no medicine for the shape that i'm in."

walking through china town and the east village, trying not to pass out.

i am weak.
my heart races in my gut.
it has been devoured.
i
am
lost.

one last smoke.
outside of penn.

it's 5am.

pain killers.

do not kill.

this type of pain.

today has been the worst day of my life.

all of the lies.
finally exposed.

all of the voicemails.
and texts.
unanswered.

everything i believed in.
all of it.

none of it true.

not one goddamn bit of it.





i am a fool.
and he
is a sonofabitch.

i wish.
it was a nightmare.

my eyes hurt.
and
my stomach turns.
and
i shake.

and

there was so much to write.
but
i didn't want to ever see the words.
here.
again.

so.
they are on index cards.
beside my bed.
written in the dark.

waiting to be burned.