the year that kills me

sometimes in the winter,
i get high
and walk around outside
in the middle of the night.
and listen to the same mountain goats song
on repeat.

i actually look at the city that i live in,
typically dismissed victorian homes lining neil.
porch lights shine on me
like a distant, pale moon.
passing old churches that
once had flea markets in the basement,
and dogs barking through a hole in the fence.
all while my roommates sit at home
and socialize.
and i cry.

body language

"help me, i'm lonely. take me, i'm available. leave me alone, i'm depressed."

west virginia reststop

have to maneuver my eyes throw the cracks in the mirror to see how sick i am.

the animal

i ripped open the plastic bag full of chocolate dipped peanuts like an animal at another's flesh. i was hungry, i needed food.