Outside the window the moon howls like a wounded beast,

the streetlights glow like exit wounds, why am I attracted

to everything that enters my body like a bullet, tell me

whether I am still something worth fighting for,


A boy with rose-coloured lips and steady hands says something

about the how dark my eyes are when I am staring at him,

and I snap like a violin string, I remember once you called

my sister ‘little princess’ and she pretended to be Bella for days,


I sketch the shape of your face onto a restaurant napkin

and then light it on fire, just to watch you burn straight out

of this life and into the next, the bruised-black sky above me

hollowed-out, he smiles and I remember the night


that we pulled the body from the bay, the waves wetting our feet,

you said ‘turn it in to the police’, I pushed her back down the

boat runway, said something about her parents, we both bathed

in stale light, tell me: is a boy made of salt able to be loved.