Dear desire, where you been? It’s been a minute.
Last time we spoke, you stormed out before I finished
spilling my guts off the edge of my bed,
reciting that mantra that you pounded in my head like,
“Here’s something for the sickness. Just ignore the side effects
the jitters will leave once you realize the promises
won’t be kept. Let’s market madness as a medicine.
It’s better to ignore the past. It’s just gonna happen again.”
Ring around the rosy. Pockets full of Rx labels.
Ashes that you left me are still sitting on the kitchen table:
in that gold vase, wilted petals at its base-
thorns you were born with found a way to scratch my face
every time we kissed, remnants of a last wish
to burn bright as the fire that once engulfed my mattress
instead of being snuffed out. Nothing’s left but the stench of smoke
and an empty orange bottle. All those milligrams of false hope.

Sing me to sleep,
I still hope these dreams will bring back my memory.
Back then remembering wasn’t an issue
I never knew that I would be so fluent in forgetful.
Sing me to sleep,
I still hope these dreams will bring back my memory.
Back then remembering wasn’t an issue
I never knew that I would be so fluent in forgetful.


When the ashes settle I’ll make angels in the dust
and deconstruct the steps away from everything I love.
and when I burn out, I’ll immolate myself again
just to try and find the things the medicine lost interest in
Wrote me a script for sleep, it tasted like dependence
life sentence of torn tendons and being stuck at the entrance
of a medical conveyor belt: pharmacy to doctor’s desk
to set my next appointment for a separate set of side effects.
I thought I was asleep, sadly I was mistaken.
All the blank spaces along with clouded faces.
Moments evaporated like a fickle rain
with lightning strikes and thunderclaps running through this weathered face.
I couldn’t hear them, I was deaf to the consequence,
creatively coping and proclaiming my innocence,
hoping that your touch would make me a better person
I won’t ask for forgiveness, frankly I don’t deserve it.

Sing me to sleep,
I still hope these dreams will bring back my memory.
Back then remembering wasn’t an issue
I never knew that I would be so fluent in forgetful.
Sing me to sleep,
I still hope these dreams will bring back my memory.
Back then remembering wasn’t an issue
I never knew that I would be so fluent in forgetful.