on the annual london orchestra trip last year, an unnamed sophomore woke up to find a finger in her mouth. your boyfriend was standing next to her bed, motionless. it was three in the morning.
"you have nice lips," he said naturally.
she choked on his finger. i don’t know if it would matter if i told you this. i don’t know if you already know.
girl you got breath and tongue and teeth
i.e., i never know
that i’m in love with a boy
until i sit next to him
under harsh street lights
as we are driving at 90 mph
per hour and so is the
train running over my
mind and Sloan knew
that Dion died because she
could feel him inside her
and she lied to Eric because
she loved him or wanted to.
i never know i love a boy until
he’s told me that i’m going to
get lung cancer and that
he’s going to steal my sweet
potato fries even though we
had never talked before and
i want to tell him: if i could be
trapped with anyone under
a train going 90 mph like
dark lamb slaughter, like there
is nothing like infant-rape-snuff-film
music at night, if i could be
stuck with anyone i would want it
to be him. there’s nothing like
him saying oh i love this song
him saying that i am coughing
my lungs up into his ice cream
because i’m dying, because he
loves me like lukewarm pond
water and the heat of tires
skidding on the wet highway,
i screamed when he told me
there was a drowned boy
approaching the car, i love
him and his wide-mouthed
laugh like fuck-me-in-the-
darkroom love, like i-do-
car crash fetishist love.
Fathers, teach your daughters to become mobile homes.
Calvin closes his eyes. Remembers half-burial in embryotic fluid. Remembers submersion in the sloping pyramid of the ultrasound when he was just a small boy. Calvin closes his eyes.
Sometimes the sea will remember you as its own, and that’s just how it is. Sometimes the body you are in becomes the body you are not in. You must swallow this.
Jump cut: a girl has her sister by the ponytail, yanking and yanking, the veins bulging out of her arms, her sister screeching as they skitter in a strange dance across the tiles of their cold kitchen, bracelets jangling. Jump cut: a twelve-year-old boy is studying the train schedule, sprawled in the endless land under a vague purple sunset. Every once in a while he stops peering down to cough black tar into a handkerchief.
“I felt the train,” she said. “I didn’t know it was. A high wind. And blades screeching. And I came.”
Eric had watched those eyes as Dion learned to let go.
There is an elm tree in your backyard and it has been dying since the moment you set foot here - there is nothing but the north and you have never known anything else - there is an elm tree in your backyard and it has been dying since before you were born -
She was big and bloody enough without a murder between her legs.
There is an elm tree in his backyard, but it tree has been dying for twenty years, only nobody knows about it yet.
I’m here. Whatever it is you want, you’ve got me.
“Are you bleeding? Is it yours? Is it yours?”
Leanne had never seen a gun before. It made the boy look even wilder than the rabbit mask ever could.
“I fired electricity into when you were nine, and you’ve been burning ever since.”
There were fewer weathervanes here.
People said that he had beaten his wife savagely. But that was just what people said.
November coldbody pressing face-up against the ground.
I could have sworn that the snow was red. I could’ve sworn there were ants in my eyes. I felt my blood run cold and quieter. I felt myself say don’t be afraid of me and I don’t know why I said that.
Catharsis had made landfall and had made fools of us all.
“The fall is never as bad as you think it will be.”
yall have good favorite words. i think mine is coruscate or varsity or contrapposto or apocalyptic or tendon or nosebleed or bleacher or anesthetic or viper or windbreaker or chlorine or aestheticism. fuck
whats your favorite word?