Frost

You might have heard and it's true

I'm an ass

and I like to show off the bruises that this picture hides

which might be pretty or sexy

or just more exhibitionist ass

but inside it's that path I took in early life

strewn with dead leaves and toys and bodies

forgotten and rotten and sweet



you forget

my dirty feet were never on your floor

and your door was open when I left

nothing hidden

nothing less but

the blood on the windowpane might be a sign

that nothing was right

...and going

she asked about death and touched my
grey
eyes

the irony was too much and she left
coughing

what a hack
we laughed

we rubbed the rest of my feeling
into her skin

creamy white
thing

she chose me despite the warnings

all the drippings leading to my sudden
end

it's not like this every morning
it''s not without foreboding

you moved my flesh to the inevitable end
and I was puctuation

That seeking sinking feeling

she offered herself as siren. after, she tried to be
rough seas,

at one point, she mentioned international waters
and no rules.

she laughed when I said I was
a smooth sailor.

then.
later,

a picture of her half-naked in front
of a mirror

without words.

am I a traitor for thinking?
silence is better.

when I am out of town and napping

twice daily

it feels like healing
and earned
but then I come home

curl my body into a ball

clinging to pillows
wrapped in a 
sweaty blanket
I forgot to wash

before I left

less like rest
still the same
damn discontent



this is the truth i tried to forget
these are the shapes I must find to make the pain lessen 

my life as origami

my hope is 
that one day

hope 
will be 
unnecessary