Notebook

I am the back

pages of a notebook

smeared with meaningless 

doodles and scribbles

of things you really 

don't give a shit about. 

Lessons

My father taught me

to only say I love you

if you are yelling it

through tears

boiling against your skin.

No one must know 

how blistered I am.

It is like matches scraped

all over my bones. 

River

Watch for the current

of my rage while 

you burn this bridge;

make sure

you are a damn

good swimmer.

Being Nice

Nice never got me 

anywhere good

so let the pink lipstick

provocatively caressing 

this cigarette

be the thing that makes

you want to inhale every

mean part of me. 

Untitled

I was in a corner

when you told me

don't harm yourself. 

How would I?

The burning of

your hand

still debilitates me.