cigarette smoke.

stain your lips in silver coin and purple bile

the roses are
rotten
outside my
windowsill
they are
black at the
tips and
yellow at
the center
they
crinkle off
kilter like
that lamp
my mother
let me
keep on the
steam
and it's odd
because we've
never had
roses,
my mother
tried to
grow an
avocado
once though,
from the seed
and
everything.
it was very
interesting
she never
bought soil
so the plant
didn't grow
up, but
the root
climbed to
the bottom and
it became a
husk.

i think
that
reminded
me of a
book i'd read
once, twice
i never really
liked
are you my
mother?
it made me
feel
hollow
like those
dead trees
across the street
of my old
school.

my old
school let
me think
a lot
and i learnt
i didn't like
the thing that
squirmed in
my mouth,
in my teeth,
in my stomach
and neck; i got
a tick bite once,
when i went
to
pennsylvania
the teacher
told me to
stop crying
when she
pulled it
from my arm
i remember
that it felt
like when
the dentist
pulled out my
tooth and
didn't use
anesthesia,
it was a
dull throb
and everything
felt like
it was
being decayed.

when i was
eleven i ate
too much
sushi and
threw up
at one-AM
and i remember
being so tired in
the morning.
i remember
i hated school
more than
anything.

i remember
when i was
twelve i
went to summer
camp, and
while i was
supposed to
be with a counselor
i went with a
few other kids
to catch frogs
in the
swampiest
area on
camp
grounds.

i remember
that all
the plants there
were
dead.