remember how aunt marie’s house used to smell?
thin layer of baby powder smell over it all
alex’s room was the attic
top floor, so pink
all my dolls have matted hair;
i had neither the time nor patience for
brushing every day.
i regret having a body.
polyphonics meant to soothe often just ferment.
i can’t tell if i want you to or not anymore.
a woman behind me yells, “mi amor!”
i don’t remember what it was like before
i started to fear that.
to love is to die again.
i became aware on the bridge tonight
that i simply do not possess the desire to kill myself.
i miss being able to hold her in my arms
and know we were judge and jury
boiling from the u.v. rays,
raw and exposed being high like gods.
don’t pick at wounds, they scar.
i loved how scared you were about
what we were
i thought it made it more real.
it just made your red flags pop against my white walls.
flag you down.
sometimes i wonder if i’m waiting.
i want to wake up but i get afraid some days
and some days turn into every day
because i don’t know what else to do anymore.
i left myself scattered on your bedroom floor.
i wish i believed in any sort of magic anymore,
believing in things is the only hard work worth doing.