there’s this dry patch of skin on my lower back, right on the spine

where it begins to curve in,

where your fingertips rest when your lips are on my throat;

I think the little dry spot just misses your

touch.

how can a few

words

from one

person

hurt so much

.

I started this page to write about you,

the moonlight that’s plagued me for four years, orbiting in a perfect ellipse.

for a time nearing, drawing closer, then accelerating away again. you’d call me Venus, for I refused any moons to cross my path but you said I’m different

I’m the cosmic dust that wandered by at the opportune moment.

and I’d just say

fuck off.

but in truth, I tilted my axis a bit too far and I thought

maybe you’d go spinning into the star below me;

but you wandered back regardless. you and your masochistic ways and marble cheekbones that refuse to let me be alone in my wrinkled white sheets,

my clouds of poison, my lonely orbit

around the stars that’ll someday swallow me

whole.

la vie; you know what

I mean when I say this life

is not for dreamers.

it’s for addicts and

gamblers who know nothing

but pain, so I am

going

to

join

them.