picking my lips until there is blood

At night I dream of drawing tunnels in the sand

Tunnels that lead to nowhere
but are full of tiny razor blades

And afterwards we go to the mall
and line against the coat rack while holding hands
And as he counts from three I can taste the salt from your eyes
But when we die we will wake and there will be salt all around us


At night with you I am vulnerable
Like taking a shower with the door open
or like that time in tenth grade when the teacher asked if anyone knew what a 'snuff film' was and I was the only one who raised my hand