so I shotgunned a beer and went back to bed

I do not need to get used to your silence. I already know it. I quite possibly love all of it.

I want to look back and say that I was alive. That I didn’t turn my back. That I tried. That I was happy.

I’ll take so little, my hand on your sleeping legs, your breath in the night.

I am troubled and harsh and hopeless. Though I have love inside me. But I don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it scratches like barbs.

I’d live on the moon probably except I think I’d miss the moonlight.

Oh what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were.

I slice grief down to the bone pull the meat off with my bare hands until I can’t wash it away Will you let me  hold your head in my hands fingers still dripping? Will you kiss the funeral of my body each weeping chair catching rain on the grass? I slice grief down to the bone then grind the bone into powder Are you hungry for the marrow of me? Can you touch me and come away still clean?