the moth

just once i’d like to kiss a nice boy,
one who still smiles and looks at stars.
but i keep attracting those guys with guitars, assault charges and drumsticks
who push cigarettes and needles
into their skin. they like to burn
but I guess so do i.

contract

reach me the razor, baby
my heart’s racing
maybe i could sort it out
over camomile and poetry?

this beading blood
says only two things:
i’m sorry
and i’m hurting