Is It Still Accidental if I Pull the Alarm?

here you are,

counting the tiles on my bathroom floor

and here I am,

letting the water run so cold it burns

and the water from my hair doesn’t travel down

my spine – it leaps

from the top floor,

trying to avoid a death where it

matters to god.

it doesn’t matter. no one can identify the body

but there are enough crying parents

that there are still flowers.

there will always be flowers.

we have always been the same person

in this body that doesn’t but could.

spare me the formalities of a first-name basis

I want you climbing down my fire escape holding

a match and a box of condoms

this isn’t intimacy but you let

me pretend I have morals when you

forget my name in the morning,

choking on four pills and smiling at my

pictures on the refrigerator.

your mother wants you to call

and I want to get some sleep

but the clothes keep coming off.

at least there is still the ICU

so I can paint myself red and

pretend to be open,

sliding glass doors and stitches.

at least you are a person.

#HS