Down to the Quick

I bite my nails, 

down to the quick

because at least that way

I know I've reached 

my limit.

Pain when my fingers clench;

blood when I make a fist.

A tiny bit of masochism 

no one sees

beause they can't look past

a filthy habit.

And it is both,

but it is so much more-

A sweet release, 

an oral fixation, 

and a way to make yourself feel something.

Even if that feeling is one of pain.

Orange Juice

The taste of orange juice,
reminds me of you;
an acrid taste inside my mouth
coupled with an articifical sweetness.

This shouldn't be. 
You are the sweetest guy I've ever met.

I constantly miss
the taste of you;
your tongue inside my mouth.
Coupled with you, that's real sugar.

Kitchen Disaster

Every time I go home,

I bake.

I bake, and I bake and I bake,

Until my mom groans and bemoans

that I ruin her diet, with my sweets.

But it is a compulsion-

Where real life is suspended

for easy choices and pre-cooked meals.

But I like to bake,

a safe place for me:

where I can still fail and not feel

too bad about kitchen disasters

I can later throw away.

The time I made the Tangerine Soufflé,

Complete disaster.

Forever to juice,

zesting my knuckles instead;

perfect curls ending up smushed.

Fruitless.

But I misread the directions

Left out a key component

And when I smelled something burning

I thought all was lost.

But I managed to salvage my creation

burned parts scraped off,

lots of whipped cream;

A little slice of orangey heaven.

Even though the rest of it,

Which my family didn’t eat,

just sat in the fridge,

until I finally threw it out.

So Instead I'll Be Your Nothing

Most days, I can't remember what you looked like,
but the smallest things have imprinted on my soul:
    the pebbly, raw texture of your skin
    the way you vocalized your favorite word
    and the coarse texture of your hair.

I've lost track of your smile-
don't remember how you said my name.
And I know I'd get it wrong,
if I tried to put down on paper
my memory of your face.

Though I hold fast to what I can remember:
    the necklace from a religion you didn't believe in
    the downward curve of your nose
    and the way you looked at me that summer.

You wanted me to be your everything,
so instead I'll be your nothing.
I've let you slip away,
only for you find your way back to me in dreams,
a hint, a memory of what was.

Shadow Flicker

The shadow of you haunts me;
an itching presence between my shoulders-
that prickling feeling of being watched-
yet also of watching
as I visit the places we went
and those I'd expect to meet you in.

Your generic looks an unwelcome specter
as everyone can shapeshift to become you
from the edges of my periphery.
And still I turn my head,
not wanting it to be you,
but already preparing what I'd say if it were.

Though it never is.
Because you are a ghost in real life now,
barely living, barely being seen.
Believe me, I'd like to forget you,
but instead I'm being haunted.

Retemomreht

Always remembered in the light,

You showed the coldness in the bowels of the earth,

Yet you were shoved into a corner

Of the bland earth, not looking after smooth preps.

Unheeded by bimbos,

Completely content

In your wealth of surroundings

And you stayed put

Wanting to go, but ungratefully, you were

Placed during the sunrise,

Staying put for an enemies enjoyment,

And for his enemies experiment.

From the bright day to the murkey depths

Into the foaming sand,

That mineral enriched mud,

With all the life forms teeming,

Better off than after,

When you bumped into the smooth

preps once again.

Never told to stay put, stroked feet

And lightly speckled, wide-open mouths.

When you kept the chill:

42°F,

unconsistent,

with Freddy dead, good company. 

Her stunted growth,

Smaller and smaller,

Because he starved her and ignored her.

Less peeping eyes and softly squeezing feet,

Ignored you too-

Uncaring if you would start to be

Unsure of yourself.

Thermometer

In a dark and forgotten place,

with no one to show the world’s warmth to.

Taken in by salty water

to tend spiny urchins in a tank.

Watched over by the few scientifically minded, but still

sort of lonely in sterile surroundings.

Unbidden, but gratefully, you traveled,

stolen during dusk, taken

from the murky closet to the brightly cluttered desk.

Into the still water,

The distilled water:

No life that you could sense, seemingly worse off.

Bumped by other needled creatures

often moved, by grabbing hands

with darkly rimmed, peeping eyes.

And still you kept the temperature: 24°C,

constant.

After it hatched, also alone.

Growing bigger and bigger every day

because she Fed him, Watched him, Obsessed over him.

More peering eyes and groping fingers

watched you too,

to see if you would continue to remain

Constant.