you were quicksilver
in my hand.
i searched for you
in dreams where
poets lay still,
their heads in ovens
that hissed out gas.
in between the lines
of notes left behind
you lay. you were
a dark growth in
the wombs of girls
who flicked ashes
on their therapists
and spat out
hatred from foam
flecked mouths.

i found you in
my eleventh year
while i huddled
in corners and
dragged my nails
across my arms,
hoping to find
a way into the
very depths of
my flesh.
i found you in my
father's eyes when
he was drunk or
in all those silly
teen crisis books
where girls talked
about their bout with
you for a few months
as if they'd lay in bed
with you for years.
as if you'd fucked
them with the mouth
where no air ever
passes.

i loved you. i love you.

they try to find
the final solution for you.
instead of poets with
their heads in ovens
they want you.
i find you again and again
in palmed pills
and in razor blades.

i loved you. i love you.