sorel | 1992 | atlantic ocean | i write about boys and girls and cars and monsters and gods and animals

cast list according to how i feel tonight which is very small and very cold:

h: you are a dozen seemingly identical flannel shirts that do not belong to you and hang six inches past your hands
c: you’ll never be a hero but you’ll always hold the door, and your heart has grown such a tree, and you cannot breathe around it anymore
r: less the godliness, less the perfect white teeth
a: witch legs and rape kits and the dna isn’t even human where were you last night where were you every night
l: what are you holding in the folds of your dress, floods of your eyes
e: we tried so hard

this summer ends with the plants who were born so in love with the earth this year and grew bigger than they could sustain themselves and they’ve died early for it and their leaves are rustling on my legs/locust thorns in my wrist/this morning i was awake early opening the windows and trying to breathe into my phone but it never works/and i just want everything under my fingertips so i can feel all the quiet things/like it aches like how the statues in museums do behind all their do not touch signs and i can never obey them all those centuries endured/the sky is so pale and cold now/forever pulling forgotten bows out of my hair at the end of the day/cold hands on eyelids (i mean mine) and not my eyelids/it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay

tell me secrets i miss everyone and my eyes hurt

when you were young you kept spiders in the pockets of your coat and you learned how to kiss me before you even said my name, and then screaming it like i’d end up screaming yours into all that cold air, and us in the world like we were the only ones, and how that was all you wanted you said, and how i loved you in the way that when we weren’t together i was thinking of how fast your heart was beating, always warm hands and your skin smelling like bread and coal, for your namesake and your sisters born with pyrite eyes after you, this isn’t an elegy until i see your ghost in this car, until your mother’s heart gets a hole,