4/4*

part one:
i do things i hate.
like, apologize profusely.
a stream of self-hating vomit
continuously getting caught between my teeth
and sticking in my throat.
how pathetic, you know?
day dream about New Mexico -
thinking about the sand and
the mighty saguaro,
(jesus christ! it's pronounced
suh-wah-roe)
and the sky that just might make me forget.
i remember your goddamned face
and
i'm sorry,
it makes me empty.
my terracotta skin breaks apart
and i decompose
in this life i've created in your absence.
nothing fills me up
except the occasional too-much-whiskey
and that just makes me thirst for your
hands.

part two:
the summer eats up my soul like a peach -
as i drip down her arm and from her mouth,
my nectar leaves a reminder;
it used to be simple.

part three:
we forget.
and yes, i use "we".