Hit: A Poem


Your fingers roll
like thunder, and for a moment
I believe my skull is doomed to be dough,

the way she had me
when I was a tie-dyed joy ride
in the palm of her hand, and

I’m weak to flinch—after all, that smirk,
playful, doesn’t match hers—
but it’s a mirror image (I am flipped)

and that laugh, that perfect, awful laugh, is identical,
though not as ambiguous, and so when I choke
I can better mimic your sounds than I ever could

hers, making you more willing
to loosen that sweat-stained collar after
you’ve buttoned me blue,

and I am quicker now than ever
to my wobbly knees, splintered shins
and cheeks singed tints,



The Burial: A Poem

We bury ourselves in the sound.

It is the dirt that rolls

around us, into us,

the dirt that drops behind our eyelids

and pauses lightly at our lips–

the warm soil, the nourishing earth,

here to protect us from formaldehyde

and needles and nooses

and downpour in the heartbreak.

We dig ourselves downwards

to escape the oppressive sky

and the alleged eyes here to protect us,

and the thoughts, so unquiet,

are softened by the song

like wolves domesticated by gentle hands,

like water sleeping in puddles on the sidewalk,

like summer winds at a standstill.

We bury ourselves in a slurry of murmurs

and we swim away, away, far away

from the coffins and tombstones

and we avoid suffocation.

The sound is our home.

Mary Lambert, the queen of my existence

Mary Lambert, the queen of my existence

Breaking spirits: A Poem


I know what a spirit feels like when it’s breaking

it’s not like a glass dropped on the floor not

like a thousand pieces not

like shattering not

like powerdrills and jackhammers not

like fragile hearts and transparency not

like screaming and crying not

like losing a fight

it’s like watching yourself, a ghost,

lose yourself, a ghost, by resignation not

by outside forces but by the inner purge

it’s like letting yourself go like

seeing yourself die

The Promise String: A Short Story

tumblr_njyzapXYyD1u92dlto1_500We’re suspended, the two of us here.

“Why do we need this?” he asks.

“So you don’t forget.”

“So I don’t forget, or so that I remember forever?” he chuckles at his own distinction. I don’t find it amusing in the slightest. The mug of hot liquid on the table is rapidly throwing steam from its possession.

“Do you want to untie it?”

“No. I never want to forget.”

“Now you’re lying.” He’s playing with the ends of the tie so that I know he’s lying. I drop his hand and it falls on the table between us.

“That hurt.” He says it but he doesn’t flinch, almost as if he saw the pain coming. I stand up from my wooden chair, opposite from his, and I’m relieved when the steely cold of the wood loses contacts with my body. He almost follows me, I can sense it, but part of him likes that steely cold.

“I swear I don’t want to forget,” he says. “I promise.” It’s all irrelevant. My back is to him.

“You can’t remember forever,” I tell him, my hands on the drapes. “You just can’t.” I start to tug on them.

“We can remember for as long as we want,” he suggests. “Even if we forget a few times. Forever is a long time to never forget something.”

“You would know about that.” I close the drapes. There’s still steam coming from the hot mug, now cooling, and even from across the room it warms my back.

“It will be a long time before I can forget this,” he hums. “It’s getting cold.”

“You like it cold.”

“I only said that so you would borrow my jacket.”

A part of the curtain, I realize now, was left partly open. It seems I won’t be forgetting for a long time, either. But I don’t know if this will be something worth remembering forever. The temperature in the room is dropping. The chair was cold, anyway. I pack my things and leave.

Tether Me Down: A Poem


Numb my ears and hold me still,

give me purpose to fulfill.

Shout a name out, shout a song–

you always seem to shout it wrong.

When I’m drowning, God forbid,

drowning now in things I did,

as the air escapes my lungs,

hold my body to the rungs.

Tether me, and whisper things,

whisper silence ’till it sings,

whisper with a shouting song,

say I did good all along.

Promise me you’ll never go.

(I know that you will go, though.

It’s only time before we break–

I break–do it for my sake.)

My ashes like snow on the town,

At least you had me tethered down.


(click image for credit)

In Silence: A Poem

“Sometimes quiet is violent” – twenty one pilots


I held her as

her every muscle bent.

Along her back, a twisted waltz

rippled beneath the skin

(her ribcage danced like worms)––

her jaw fell open, her tongue pushed back

as if in a scream, as if she gagged.

Her eyes rolled in her head,

all the way backwards, into her brain;

her nerves ripping, her muscles snapping,

her dead fish arms

limp at her sides.

I held her, and whispered kindnesses to her,

but I could not revive her,

which shook me all the more,

as she was me.

We sat in silence.

Gone Gone Gone: A Poem

My legs are gone.

Gone gone gone.

My voice is gone.

Gone gone gone.

My nerves are overheated, overwired, overshaking.

My mind is overcontemplating, overthinking, overracing.

My hope is gone.

Gone gone gone.

My capabilities are gone.

Gone gone gone.

My ears are oversensitive, overhearing, overworking.

My eyes are overclosed, overdark, overslammed.

My ambition is lost.

Forever forever forever.

I am being strangled.

Forever forever forever.

(Can’t you see that I can’t live like this?)

I want to be gone.

Gone gone gone.