This one's for Maggie

its almost mid-february, and you're still knocking at my door.
the colors on my skin have turned purple to green, and from green to flesh.
i used to stare at us in the blacks and the whites,
in different hues of the shower, the many tints of the bathtub.

falling over in your closet,
ritual fertility
tender times a labyrinth,

even nights we can't remember,


and you beg and you plead
and you tell me that i'm your home.
yeah, you tell me all those other girls don't fulfill you,
that none of them never will.

it's almost mid-february and i'm still hiding from you.


it's been more than two years,
same old shit.

what you keep forgetting is the time i slammed your door.
4 in the morning— how could you forget...
your neighbors know my signature storm-
It sucks in anything into my orbit and goes straight for your direction.
you dont need a warning, you know what comes next.
i am the calm before the storm,
I am the hunger in your belly,
I am the silent ache That stings at your flesh,
And the hurricane that robs you each night of your sanity
well i've come and i've gone, and i'm not turning back around.
you can't keep blowing up my inbox, im not your puppet anymore.