non-fiction fiction reality!

isn’t it funny? it seems like

the whole world exists in limbo with love

indefinitely, letter from early summer

sits in my drawer like

i even knew what that meant

of course i was only talking about

music. about that persistent

enforced depression i keep myself under

like some

reverse hot-house flower

i make sure to mold

i want to know about your life

pulsing wound as a girl

you’re the handheld knife

please, spill a little blood

for your humblest vampire

is it cruel to wish

for you to suffer for a very

very long time?

if i was a better

softer person i would dust off your shoulders

and count your love as mine

my whole point to

that original letter was this,

i admire your ability to speak so blithely

if i could express myself accurately

without feeling watched!

have i mentioned that i think of you often?

do with that what you will

maybe i enjoy these sad songs and

metaphors so much because

they veil meaning

perhaps i enjoy your vulgarity because

it doesn’t

today i felt my shoulder

and i could make out the bone so clearly

with my f inger

now i recall that i’m human

p.s.

would it disturb you if i attached poetry? i won’t lie

and say it was written for you. it wasn’t written for

anybody. it just is.