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I’m running the fastest through this rain I’ve slipped so many times that I stopped counting. I bet bruises have filled up the parts of my body that your lips managed to stain, and I’m glad I’m bruising myself with the nearest rock and as I close my eyes I pretend that the stains are still there clear as day. I don’t know whether I should run for a few more hours and sneak in through the back door the way I used to or if I should continue hurting myself and maybe it’ll keep distracting me from the thought of your hands around my neck, but I swear the thought of you is more painful than the tip of my cigarette against my left arm. I remember the way I made you so happy but I can’t seem to get the volcanoes that erupted in your eyes out of my head long enough to let the beauty of your smile fill up the corners of my worried mind. I wish this rain could wash away the sorrow in my heart because I can’t seem to change at all and even though you deserve the world I can’t give you just that and maybe that’s why I keep hurting myself instead of sneaking into your house because I know you stopped waiting every night and maybe you even started locking it every night locking me out then you probably swallowed the key because the sadness I brought upon you made it easier for you to swallow things whole.. I’ve always loved you, and I guess I was afraid to admit it to myself but now I’m not but its too late now I’m ripped apart with wounds that cannot be sewn, a heart made of glass shaking to the max, am I still alive?



I’m drifting away

It was the kind of night that starts off with a flirt; the shallow kind. Quick arm touches, you tease. Five minutes later your telling him every dream and secret you’ve ever had. Things you forget were still in your chest.



I decided.



It’s blurry at best, when you think about it now. You put me in a box buried 6 feet under where we used to have our hammock. You know, in the backyard. But the funny thing about memories, is your not actually remembering. In reality your remembering the last time you remembered. It’s a fluid snapshot and it’s changing forever.

But I remember, playing whisper around the room. It was the same thing. You start out with an honest truth, a few thoughts and whispers later it’s a different monster now. You keep him in your closet and he growls



It’s not until he starts whimpering that you realize you probably should have wrote it down. It would have been better to have the snapshot more authentically. Stronger and more grounded, more clearheaded and realistic. But I’ve been thinkin; thinkin those qualities might be lost on me.



And that’s when I decided I could be more holistic when I’m tearing everything apart in my head. Ever since I was little I’ve been rearranging facts to make stories make more sense. Because it’s just all stories, you can’t write fiction about ideas or rhetoric. You have to write about people and life is people. Billions of people and billions of stories to forget.



I can’t forget, but I'd like to. We’ve all been pulling the wings off butterflies to pass the time. Little pains aimed at each other.

So I smothered the last little bit of life left in my pen. When the ink like blood dried I had a better idea of what it was like to feel safe in my bed again.



That’s when I decided to stop breathing.

It was that simple, I was bored. I was talking to a soul that wanted my heart to keep pumping but didn’t want to look in my eyes again. So I downed the pill bottle and I yacked. I didn’t even see a light. It was fucking pathetic. The bathroom floor was more welcoming than my goddamn kitchen.

And that’s sad.



The very last text I sent ended with a semi-colon. A half finished sentence, with words like sparks capable of starting fires. I almost robbed the world of that. The incomplete sentence would’ve ended with I love you.

And I meant that.



It was probably the only thing I meant. Since I first heard that lyric. This is fact not fiction, for the first time in years and; it took me two years to realize what it meant. death cab always seemed to say it best.



When I couldn’t. And I can’t. I can’t put down my…pen. Since I heard the mark on my wrist is a god damn fad on the internet. 
Whatever, I’ll be a cliche. At least it shortens the distance between everyone and me.
 Unlike the distance from my sanity. 
I decided It’s indifferent and mundane 
I’m tracing lines and finding peace in the space between my knuckles and the wall. 
As I negotiate with whoever the hell is running heaven these days.




Why didn’t you take me when I decided?

Your kisses were like poison


Nicotine and an ounce of rum in each one


An addiction I could not out run 


I needed the smoke and the shots


That way my heart would rot


And I’ve been calling you ever since I died inside 


You leave every talk with blowing a kiss and a “love me not”


I take in your death wishes and inhale your gun shots


I let the rum pour over me and I fall 
more in love with you.

Darling, you’re never going to be happy if you keep having to clean up the blood that spills from the heart of any man that gets caught in your defenses.

I know you hide your heart in a steel trap in case someone tries to steal it, but one day it’s going to be your fingers that get caught when you finally decide you want to love again.



Darling, razor edged words and icy glares may protect you from the thieves, but you’re also scaring away the people who love you.

I know you have scars from the sharp blades of his language, but you can’t hide behind false strength forever.



Darling, I know that when he stole your heart he hid it in a freezer, but it’s time for you to start thawing out the ice.

Passion that burns,


scorches to the touch…




Kisses rough against a wall,


leaving bruises to feel for days.




Nails and teeth,


bruises and marks…




I want it all…




To own you as you ruin me.




Lust fueled by something more,


meeting of the minds,


connection of the souls,

combusting in the physical aspect.

Look at the moon tonight. It’s bright and filled with craters and imperfections but it’s the master of the seas, the illuminator of the night, it brings comfort and burden, just like you who’s having a dull moment. You’re the moon in an empty space.

I’m the words you could never speak.


I’m the storm in your mind that will never calm.


I’m the darkness that consumes you.


I am the light you can’t find.


I’m the sins that you always come back to.


I’m the happiness you desperately sought far and wide for.


I’m the voice in your head, leading you in all sorts of directions.


I am the little bit of sanity left in you.


I am the faith you lost as a child.


I am the hope you have yet to abandon.


I’m that book you threw at the wall, because “it just didn’t make any sense”.


I am the angel you gave up on.


I am that demon you welcomed.


I am what you can’t get enough of.


I am what makes you sick.


I am all that you think about.


I am everything you want to forget.


I am the good and bad in your life.


And it’s tearing us both apart.

After the tide came rushing in:



I was left immobilized, 


Tongue tied and wide eyed, staring up at the lonely sky


I mistook the tears in my eyes for salty ocean spray 


I clenched my fists in the hope that I could grab something to keep me steady as I felt my body rock subtly back and forth
...



But all my wrinkled fingers held were balled up fists of wet sand

Even after several hopeless attempts.


I felt the tide come rushing back


And fear set in at the realization that I might not survive this.

I am made from shattered stars, broken nights, and frightened suns too scared to dare shine.



I am made from mayhem in its purest form; all heavy sadness and wrathfully vengeance and paralyzing fears.



I am tornados and earthquakes and hurricanes and volcanos all thrown together in a tumult of mismatched destruction, and the pandemonium has become that I am and everything I ever will be.



All I am is chaos, but all I want is to be saved.

Promise me, promise me, you won’t ask.

And I promise you, I promise you, I won’t tell.

And the space between us will continue to fill.

With unspoken words.

With unseen faceless expressions.

With unfelt emotions.

With untold stories…

With unbroken hearts.

I was born into a line of queens.


Powerful, driven, phenomenal women.


Born of struggle.


Raised in triumph.


If these women weren’t born of the Amazons

I do not know who is.




Born of sweat, and blood, and cesarean scars.


Voices both gentle and powerful


They could shake the Earth while calming the ocean
s to sleep.


There is this rigid stillness about them


that I can’t help but admire.

My soul is fire. Scorched.
 An all-consuming burn
 that wonders the night and bays like a wounded hound. No
 respite or rhyme or reason or rest for the wicked.
 Insides writhe and ache to be free or eased, something anything.



Your soul is blue like lagoons and the cool of a hand on a feverish brow.
 Still waters run deep and to drown in your depths is a mercy.
 You are sand gliding over toes when the waves comes in.
 And the heart of you glows from its hiding place amongst the fanfare of all the other Things of Beauty.
 A radiant pulsation of light, water, ripples of calm.



The second law of thermodynamics states that my lost fragments had no choice but to find you.

I can’t understand how love became regret so quickly


And that does not mean that I regret loving you


I’m hoping that you haven’t grown to regret ever loving me either


I just regret that we were not able to have that everlasting love


That love we dreamed of


The dreams you had about us that we talked about


But those dreams faded away like every word I say



That’s why these days I rather put all these words on paper


Than waste them on a late night text that will get lost with the rest of them


Text messages that don’t even warrant a response


So I spend every night writing all these notes about you

While I’m drinking alone nightly




Surprisingly, it’s not the lowlight of my day


I think it’ll help me get through these uneventful days of living

Now every empty bottle of vodka and whiskey


I’m saving them and using each as vases


I’m placing flowers in every bottle in honor of everyone I’ve letdown




Maybe one day I’ll make a list and try to reach them all


I’ll ask them for forgiveness or just do some catching up


It’ll have to be on one of my better days


When my anxiety isn’t working against me and my voice doesn’t shake

Don’t fall in love with me,

for my heart is a black hole,

too heavy for you to hold,

decorated with flowers,

decorated with thorns.



I’ve learned to turn my chaos into poetry,

and how to dance to silence.

Don’t fall in love with me,

for I have so much to forgive myself for.

For neither of us will if you ever fell in love with me.

I can sit for hours and hours and just read.
 Read all the poetry until it's engraved into my soul.
 Oh the way pain makes you artistic. The way you compare yourself to the magentas and aquas of the skies process of changing from day to night.
 The way you compare yourself to the waves continuing to hit the ocean shore over and over again regardless of the circumstance. The way you compare yourself to the fire bringing warmth yet, stinging all in one touch. 




How ironic, isn’t it? 
Oh the way pain makes you artistic. The most cruel things in the world can make you discover the most glorious pieces of yourself that you are even yet to understand.
The emotions you did not even knew were comprehensible now take over and help you aspire to become a master piece.
The anger and frustration of your own defeat bringing you so low to a place where even your own screams cannot be heard yet, you still continue to shout.




Oh the way pain makes you artistic.
 It brings life to my veins.
 It makes the sun kiss my skin a little bit harder each day. 
It makes the moon whisper to me at the darkest times of night.




Oh the way pain makes you artistic…

Sleep is only when I stop.


I stop hating myself for my mistakes.


I stop thinking of the words I would say.


I stop the negative thoughts in my head.


I stop daydreaming of me and you.


I stop.


Because sometimes thinking too much, hurts me even more.


So I sleep away the pain, wishing for a better day.

She is a Wednesday afternoon; sunny, normal, and for once, you are not counting down the days until Friday.



She is your third glass of wine and you’re not drunk but your cheeks are rosy and you can taste the words that the alcohol in your veins pumped from your heart to the back of your throat.



She is a sudden downpour when you’re walking to work and it’s impossible to shelter yourself from the rain and deciding that you don’t mind getting wet.



She is a dream so sweet that it’s a nightmare and she is the extra weight in the air you can’t fully inhale the rest of the day.



She is restless hand syndrome because your heart isn’t beating at the same rhythm as written language but she is begging to be translated.



She is every promise that you never made but know you will keep.



She is, she is, 
she is standing in front of you and she is saying the words “I love you” the way she says your name and she is more of a home than any place you’ve ever lived.

…I pour myself another.


I don’t want it to end.

I don’t want to wake up.


I’m trying to smile.

I’m trying to laugh.


But I transition.



Slowly then all at once,


My fears tumble out.


What my euphoria could mask suddenly overtakes,


And I’m defenseless against the stabs of pain.


I begin to weep.



I weep for those years,


Torn and taken away;


I weep for the dragons trapped inside of my chest,


Stone savages left to rot among vines and bilboes.


Wounds I can’t ignore.



I’m slumped now,


Against the wall.


They’re looking at me like they don’t know who I am.


I glare at them and force myself up.


Tomorrow can’t come yet.

when i lost you i thought my freedom would let me breathe, i thought me being free, would release my lungs from their restraints. but really your absence was choking me and i blindly felt around the right side of the sheets for your soothing, cold touch. you weren’t there, and i was suffocating.



after i finally choked out what was left of myself i opted for the cigarette. soon my creased sheets smelled of its odor and i found myself rubbing my lips with my two fingers as if i was lighting up, and i mindlessly wrote poetry about your pastel hair and your dark eyes.



i tore at my scalp when i couldn’t get my mind to forget you. i wanted to completely wipe the idea of you but at the same time i wanted to feel your icy hands against my hips and your dry legs tangled against mine. my brain contradicted itself, and i found recluse into running away, without leaving the walls of my bedroom.

my mind was far lost in the beginning of our affairs.



i took my sorrow out on the only thing we really own; our bodies. the amount of bottles i went through, the amount of broken ones i used to see the blood from my wrists. on the nights when the flow got heavy, and i felt blurry from the loss, i felt real. for once, i felt like i could breathe again.

I feel myself healing.

It’s slow, it’s tedious, but it is tangible.

I feel the cracks littering my heart slowly mending themselves, stitching back together in the most intricate ways.

It is not the same healing I thought you once gave, when your fingers threaded through my hair and your lips slowly breathed life into me.

No, that healing is long gone, and it left devastation in it’s wake. Now I know, I know that no one will truly heal me, but me. So I’m hanging a do not disturb sign on my soul so I can heal myself day by day. And when the construction is done and the dust has settled, you will see I am stronger than I once was.

1. I’m trying not to make you my happiness. I’ve learned this before, at a point between love and heartbreak. I cannot make you my whole happiness, just a part of it.



2. I am not oblivious to the fact that I am a difficult person. I’m frequently misunderstood and although I know you still do not understand, you are trying. Thank you.



3. If you still love her, let me go. I don’t want to be a distraction or a temporary solution for whenever you’re craving the taste of her lips.



4. Let me down easy. Please don’t shatter me into a million pieces, I’m not good at putting things back together.



5. I love you. Now that I do, I think in some way, I always will.

I thought I escaped you, Death, your heart, a song, pressed up against my tenders parts, for so long. 
I changed my tone.
 I’ve walked in near sunny fields, 
spread my bones across a land of seasons.
 I’ve flown so close to the sun, then flown back again for a closer burn.



I thought I escaped you, Death, your heart a wilting raindrop, aching its way through my form. But though my mind now is strong, my body fails me, its strongest fight, now near far gone, fighting a million enemies, without knowing the face of the war.



It decays piece by piece. My skin turning ash, falling away in the passing breeze of my waking life. 
My layers unravel to unfamiliar cells, loosely hiding a briar patch of bones, that hold no support to my fading world.



My organs turn rock in their mesh of red net, sinking me into my bed in the night, when we, fast asleep, holds no careful watchful eye. They hold me captive until three days and three nights have long passed. They show me my coffin in the comforts of my own bed, waiting patiently for my head to knock down from the clouds where it idles, before allowing me one last taste of life again.



I thought I escaped you, Death, your heart, your reach, your darkened cave, your influence on me. I knew all the passages, the edges, your deeps. And after everything, I drifted out into the light, clawing out from your attempts at my defeat, to find the clouds that swarmed around me, toxic more with every deep breath I breathe.



Your shadow has changed form, my direction now headed north, but you now a familiar friend, the one life lesson I cannot unlearn, a lonely cage, my life, still, your open door.

My heart beats precisely for the universe. 


I can feel it grow faster when I’m close to what I love.

My feet roam only to feel this earth.


They slow down and stop when they find a place that feeds my soul.

My hands reach to feel the worlds’ beauty. 


I see them shake when I don’t know where the beauty lies.

My eyes look intently for the hidden secrets the world has to offer.


I feel them fill with tears when the secrets are too much to handle.

My entire life is being lived under one sky that knows all,

and it watches me struggle.



I think it enjoys watching me struggle.

I wish my demons were dirt, 


that I could wash away
 in the morning shower,


spiraling down the drain
 instead of into my blood stream.


I lather, rinse, and
 repeat this self destructive behavior
 until

a layer has been scrubbed off


and all that’s visible is my bruised
 flesh.


The water is barely covering my toes
 yet

I am drowning
 in my thoughts. 


I wish my demons were dirt


that I could wash away 
in the morning shower,


spiraling down the drain 
instead

of into my heart


where they weigh so heavy.

I don’t want to be your sunshine;
I want to be your full moon among a sky full of stars,
 and the drops of rain that kiss your skin in the spring,
 and your frostbitten fingertips on a cold winter day.

I don’t want to be sweet; 
I want to be your first bitter sip of coffee in the morning,
 and the metallic taste of blood when you get anxious and bite the inside of your lip too hard,
 and the salty taste of tears when you let yourself fall apart.

I don’t want to give you butterflies;

I want to give you dirty thoughts late at night,
 and a smile so wide you swear your teeth will break,
 and a memory so fond that when everything is over
 and all of this is done
 you never feel or taste
 or love
 the same way.