six-legs (or: if you happen to own a copter gecko and are looking to get rid of it, i would be happy to take it off your hands)

she stole my ability to find a place
for myself, a state of mind, the
strict and sprawled sense of belonging,
and when i try and write all the wrong
things come out on the page. my right
brain is showing its age.
i'm much too young to believe in morals,
to know who she is, even begin to
fathom what's right in front of me.
because these days all i see are bones and
some are buried, but some are thrown.
sooner or later i'll have to acknowledge
that i'm not the good man here.
what do you call it when you lose
your grip to one more deserving?
i'm perfectly willing to slip i just
wish i could stop her burning