the kind of night you go blind in

i want to be buried, but i do not want to die. buried in arms, buried in sheets, buried in shirts, buried in lipstick marks, buried between his shoulder and neck. there is this great weight upon me- the fear of being terrible. i am so scared to hurt those i love but i am paranoid by my capacity to be horrible. i feel the need to carry this responsibility. my desire to be good for him is not a burden as much as its a need. i am so lucky that i get to be kind to him. everyone is so cruel but why? he has done nothing but exist in the numb limbo of alive and dead. floating like a ghost through empty hallways with the pain still drawing. standing in your childhood bedroom and hanging yourself with your favorite plush snake. he follows the thin dotted line between alone and lonely, and i would like to change that. to melt in his company, rot in his smell, hear him hum contently like a brand new air conditioner

i wrote a song about him recently, as awful as that sounds. here is my favorite verse: 

the kingfisher's mouth opens with privacy

salt water simmer out, what might you want with me? 

pluck your feathers pretty, my lonely starling

lick clean your wounds and toils, torment me terribly

i cannot write too well, im afraid. but i try my hardest to put down this bile in my throat onto words. theres this poison-oak itch i must scratch- this isolation. there is an empty space in my bed where he belongs. a depression that would cradle his shape better than my hands ever could. i wanted to sleep alone for so long but its so quiet without someone breathing next to me. its so cold without something alive in my house, in my palms. i hope this never turns to stone, never burns like paper. i am afraid of fire and have been for a long time. i struggle lighting my smokes on my own because the flame gets too close to my face and makes my cheeks warm. its like blushing. what a miserable human reaction. my face gets hot like a stove top youre told not to touch all because of some words or nails on my skin. thats so stupid... too human for my liking- too alive. i dont want to be human, i dont want to be alive, i want to be buried

im sorry. i dont know for what yet, but itll come to me someday. im sorry for my presence here, in your life. it may seem like a good thing now, but i am afraid of becoming the hurt that follows you like a disease. i am afraid my words will stick to your teeth for too long. part of me wants you to forget me someday, but my ego tells me you never will. i hope you find me places. 

i find you everywhere. the light between curtains, the nostalgia of old commercials, cctv footage, the smell of a shoebox. theres stars of you all over my night sky. this is turning into a letter. a confession? you already know i love you, though. and yknow what? im not sorry for it. i dont hope you forget me. i want to stay here- in your sun, in your grass, in the taste of blackberries. i wish there were more meadows, id take you there. i feel like im going to cry soon... is there something wrong with me? maybe its because music is playing. my feelings dont linger like your touch will- nothing lasts long. i hope you last long though. i want you to, badly

to my mystery of lack (stabbing stars through my back), i love you. im not sorry for it. i never will be. some part of me hopes youre not reading this, but you are. the letters probably look all squiggly by now, huh? thats how you make me feel- all squiggly

ta-ta for now!

-k.s