i remember when i used to travel alone,
i packed too much
and i always stared.

everybody looked so sad.

me too.

i look mean, so nobody approaches me.
i don't really want people approaching me

i'd feel like i owed them something.

i had a dream last night,
i told him i dreamt that i was at his funeral
so he wouldn't get angry.

he always gets so angry.

you were home, this home
not that one you have now.
there we were

in front of the fireplace.

i woke up and remembered everything
it felt cheap

so i fucked him
and then i forgot.

it felt great.

skeleton me

it feels like i've been naked for days.
naked with him
while you're naked with her.

i waited for it to be this way
& i'm not sorry that it is.
i tried to disassociate.

she looks thinner
thinner than me
but i don't care

neither will matter as much
as the lost ones do.

strange steps take us back

how anxious, anxious worry, after all this time; like no time's passed at all. i looked down into the grate between my feet, i saw the 6 flying underneath me, like i could have slid into it, flat on top, howling through the underground of our city. what would have been our city, what's now so full of ash that we sweat soot. i got my fortune told when i was 11, i was in copenhagen, she read my palm. she told me i would travel around the world. she wasn't wrong. but i think i traveled to all the wrong places, i fell in love with all the wrong cities, and all the wrong languages. you weren't wrong. that's a shame. it would be easier if you were wrong.

you know when you're sitting in class, you're not in college yet, you're at that awkward age where it matters when you're wrong, you've got about 6 more years 'til you stop giving a shit, and your teacher asks one of those open-ended questions. those "challenging" questions, the ones that are supposed to be "objective". so you raise your hand to answer, you tell her what you think it means, she tells you that you're wrong. you're not brave enough yet to fight her, so you slink back down into your desk, and there's 23 eyes on you, just looking at you. you can't read their faces, you hope for the worst. that's what it feels like every day with you. i feel like a humiliated pre-pubescent girl, you're the classmates and you're the teacher all in one cruel package, you're just constantly humiliating me and im just standing there, silently taking it, like i'm naked in a crowd of people, and they're all circling my flaws. like those sororities-gone-wrong stories you read about in Teen Vogue. you're so careful to build sentences that set me up for failure. picking up each word with tweezers, making this painting that's full of shame, and it reads like my body.

it impressed me. you're not from here, and i'm better at this language than you are, but you can still bring me down. i guess that comes with the ex-lover territory. i guess you're always gonna have that over me, you'll hold it over my head, cause i deserve it.

...où pas...