I always come back
to your xoxo‘s
and your big crooked smile
and how your mind knows
what little deceits
my brain tricks me with.
You change the equation
to make logic fit.

I always return
to the big words you carve
into need you’s and miss you’s
until I am starved
of reality’s measure of
love and of friends.
Until I am clawing
at your threaded ends.

I always make truths
out of webs of half-lies,
of pictures you draw
that depict your demise
or the life you could make
if I’d disappear.
I wonder if you see
me, bare, standing here.

I always regret
what I should not have done,
or perhaps might have said
had you ever been one
to listen, to hear my
silence speak tones high.

With x’s and o’s,
I tell you–finally:


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