• Your eyes get real fiery sometimes.
    I like to imagine you shriveling
    Shrinking
    Liquidizing
    And running through the cracks in the linoleum floor
    And draining through the dirt and the
    Sewer systems
    Until you get to where you go
    In your own little world.

    Are you setting fires?
    Are you back in eighth grade,
    Saying you want to crack some bones
    And taking my offer and
    Taking my fingers and
    Bending them back until you hear a satisfying crack and
    Watching my face, waiting for me to squirm?


    Sometimes, your eyes are ice
    And when you open your mouth I expect this breath to be my last
    And I expect your arms to be heavy as boulders when you wrap them around my waste and
    I figure this will be the last word I ever say
    But then you melt,
    And evaporate
    And you are nothing,

    You are air.