i think of her when i am walking in dark places alone- past high walls at night, or on dirt paths through treelines. especially when i can see my breath, because she can no longer see hers.

i think of her when i am being fucked, but not when i am fucking.

i think of her whenever someone calls out for their friend of the same name. when she answers, i am caught off guard. the m-word is, for me, forever tainted. but it is not her fault; it is his. her bones are picked clean, gnawed dry by him, yet still lying scattered among dirt and dry leaves and semen and the weight of our flesh. all of the rest of us, still present in her graveyard.

because it was her, because it could be us. because it could be me.

past future

last five entries:
blisters and bruises - 03.18.08
dorsey - 03.13.07
finding peace - 02.02.07
unintentional clean slate - 09.11.06
natural born cyborg - 06.23.06