I dug my fingers into you
Hooked by fingers through your ribs
Like a fence
I gripped so hard so you’d never leave
I don’t want you to go
As long as I can feel your heart beating
Through your bones
I want you here
But I know that’s selfish
I am so proud of you, my lovely friend.
So proud
Give me a little bit of patience
And with some time I’ll learn
To slip my fingers off, one by one
I won’t be truthful when I wish you well
But I will let you go
Knowing that I’m letting you become who you want to be.


I know I’m suppose to want you all to myself
Sharing in this situation isn’t welcome
But I can only love you partially
So I don’t want all of you
Because then I’ll have to give all of me
Half of everything is all you’re going to get
So if you want hundreds, wholes, completes
Don’t make a home around my bones
One half will always belong to me
You and I both know I could love you best
And while I can name many moments where
Love felt like the best description
For the goosebumps on my skin
Attraction of any kind comes hand in hand with hunger
Insatiable hunger for skin and lips
Nothing more.
So I don’t want you
I just want enough so I know I won’t stray


We were the first human beings who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building. Jungle animals on attack, ancient icebergs collapsing, volcanoes erupting. I can’t recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn’t immediately reference to a movie or TV show. A fucking commercial. You know the awful singsong of the blasé: Seeeen it. I’ve literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can’t anymore. I don’t know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script.
It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless automat of characters.
And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don’t have genuine soul

Gone Girl

You are beautiful
But you are empty and you are selfish
One cannot love cruelty for long
One cannot forget oneself for long over cold hearts
I cannot be sustained on midnight kisses
And sweet nothings made bitter from alcohol on the breath
I am not satisfied with longing looks
Only once my clothes are off
And my skin is on your skin
I refuse to have to remind you to love me
You are quite lovely
But even lovely things have thorns
And I cannot keep breaking skin for you
It’s you I want, my beautiful friend
But one does not die for your kind of beauty


Mr. Turlington: Who do you wanna be, Mason? What do you wanna do?
Mason: I wanna take pictures. Make art.
Mr. Turlington: Any dipshit can take pictures, Mason. Art, that’s special. What can you bring to it that nobody else can?
Mason: That’s what I’m trying to find out.