i. pretending to walk through the foggy woods again, in a reoccurring garden hose night terror, without the elderly neighbor’s complaints,

or need to call the cops if i stop (just a little too long) to name a white-throated sparrow “it costs too much to go bowling on friday nights”

or maybe need to tie my shoes…

ii. and sometimes i catch myself wondering where you’ve been, siphoning gasoline…

masturbating to a motel television, collecting golf balls from cracked car windows,

again and again, again and again, again and again / you’re scouring through the medicine cabinet,

in marlboro light lipstick, in half-off synthetic hair extensions, in cardboard signs ‘i was crying in my truck this morning’

while i stayed up practicing making out with sun spectacles / with the telephone plugged in / with the bedroom door closed, a note attached to the knob

‘soon you’ll be ecstatic i forgot to put gas in your car, left a half cigarette in my pocket, and only broke half of your fingers,

soon you’ll feel a bit more gratitude,

kiss more privately, make love on barren highways…

think about killing yourself, less and less

i. suggested you wear something other than a lobotomy to your grandmothers funeral / as if we’d find time to fuck each other in pews ‘til we create coruscant nosebleeds with our blistered tug-of-war fingertips

ii. under your welcome mat is a place where people pray for fermented ibs symptoms, nocturnal yeast infections, and symbolic herniated discs,

turns out carving a cyst out of your pubic line with a blunt spork is not a good idea for your mental health

in layman’s terms, found your name in the middle of yesterday’s obituary, and masturbated for approximately three hours to the word ‘was’

filmed some exclusive footage,

reminiscent of my mouth on your mouth, spitting up canary yellow insects and pawn shop accordions…

i. like a connecticut housefly (nervous about paying rent fifteen days late) i was terrified i would end up vomiting tousled mascara on your disgruntled abdomen and leave you missing someone else’s bedroom aura,

i’ll meet you there in five minutes…

ii. during a ninety second television advertisement, i realized i fell in love with you because of the way you polish honeycrisp apples with traumatic childhood memories, and argumentative ‘thank you, please come again’ shopping bags…

i wish you were here sucking on my pierced nipples, no, no, no, no, no… had that night terror again through faulty binoculars, where we kiss using only splintered kitchen plates, damp linoleum tiles and crumbling front cavities,

but how many times have you asked ‘are you okay’ today? five, six, seven, eight,

i.

‘when i hold you i wonder who you really are’ this was my inattentive ex. girlfriend’s favorite phrase

something, something, something, you’ve been exhibiting signs of depression (lack of an appetite, trouble concentrating, changes in sleep)

including playing the harmonica in a back handspring

i.

your mood shifts like the sanguine lipstick stains on your mattress / removed the yellow pillows, the front door and the synonyms for your last name

refused to let go of perfectionism, of negative self talk / of red and yellow onions while you were sobbing though we’ve spent dreams slow dancing in your chest pain and church step nostalgia.

ii.

don’t you see it? / i used to stow myself away in the strand of hair behind your ear, and listen to the executions,

i’m sorry johnny, not tonight, go back to pressing your cock against the shower glass and reciting lyrics from the temptations (like i know what the fuck that is, anyways)

and anyways, you remind me i need to stop by the gas station then write about it like it smells like a bouquet of roses after they’ve been shoved in my pussy for five and a half excruciating minutes…

that’s what i was thinking… i should sit down and shave my head with your late-night snoring and passionless vending machine voice / you never believed in love / just clickbait articles on how to get rid of stick and poke menstrual cramps and ankle blisters

it is going to be fucking terrible like dropping your phone in a public toilet or biting your tongue reading job opportunities off someone’s ass / but you should have made a break for it / jumped out of your red sedan and straight into a humiliating iced vanilla latte laced with newspaper comics

spent too much money on a swimming pool but the trick is to have positive thinking (and a dick the size of a malfunctioning ac) / you were sleep deprived like the one hundred piece puzzle beneath my brow