and so she broke his heart afterhe stopped buildingglass houses of trust for her to s h a t t e r
i am worth it.and if this feelingonly lasts for tonight,i'll swallow the night;rearrange the starsto map theletters of my namebecause i am worthevery second it takesto let the world know i'm alive
it isn't the cigarettes.maybe my lungs are black becausei've only everinhaled the second-hand smokeof your lies
half-empty.she-devils lend me their smiles;all the other ones i haveare tearing at the seamsall that's left of me isblack ink & blacker bloodmixed with the bittersmell of rubbing alcohol but she still snakes her arms around the nebulae collapsing in my freckled lungs bec
judging books by (shitty) covers.my cover has beentorn,ripped, & replacedso that i could fool you into thinkingthat there are onlyhealthy thoughtsinside thesecrisp pagesbut even thoughi did a shit job& you can still seethe frayed edges ofbad nights and bad daysand bad weeks peekingthrough my translucent skin,you glance at meand think "yeah, she's okay"
beautiful.i hate my stretchmarksthe vertical the horizontal the ones running miles down my armsstripes on a circus tentmy body is a freak show75 cents a ticketthey are the bars on a cagetrapping me inside this prison cell of flesh (not letting me run away from all i once was)reminding me that i am still that little girl who was told that she had toomuch weight in her stomachand in her thighs to be called beautifulmy stretchmarks are the debris from when i tried to collapse upon myselftried taking up less space because beautiful is small beautiful is skinnydiets upon dietsbecause i've been told thati am only worth the sharpness of my collarbone
Poetry AnalysisI was given poetry Told to pinher arms and legsdown on my paper; college ruledDissect HerIt's procedure Take my pen & tear her openExpose her limbsAnd rearrange her vertebrae to fit my selfish needs But what the teacher doesn't knowis I already let mine escapeClutching to the secrets that still remain inside her Where they belong
oxymoronic.i am so full of empty
so close yet so far.i am always a thousand feet away from those who are closest to me
...i wish i could still call you home
post-conflagrationoh, darling, look at us;a crooked collection ofashen-faced chaotic nobodies,struggling to stand straight.we used to burn so bright,but we're just now learningwhy no-one loves fireworksafter they've gone out.
sycamore rotting.his daughter felllike dynasties prominent.to indulgence sheathingitself over what was left--she didn’t seem too younguntil she was far too old.and he only livedfor the namelessness,twisting notions into his embryo,vile and volatile.vulnerable riddled her smileand venerable, she was never.she wasn’t ever, nor was iin this noir motion pictureflickering sense(lessness) of reality.the loud lights of this filmcovering my eyes burninto the quiet;hushed because they’re staticbut the looks are thunderous.the tempest tempts usand we take the baitfaster than the firstlightning strikehit you in the chest.i was no criminalbut i have committedmany injusticesand lost timewasn’t the only thingi kidnapped.but you were a fugitivei could not catch.
say i want my freedom, sure-suddenly,august emerges from the depthsof this ashen mind;behind me evaporatesthe thrill of the placewhere we chased firefliesand your goodbyes arisein the vapor of its reflections.give me a sign, you saidwhen i met you on the sidewalk,give me ultimatumsand chains and ways to staybefore i break everything.now, i wear your ghostas a mask on my faceand as a bracelet, your halo,burning marks into everyone i touchand spelling out your nameas a haunted mantra.august left me here,tied up with angel hairand strings of excuses,i'll never find your reasonto stay another sullen season here.
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
make forevers in memories.we are not foreversdancing on the borderlinesof infinty we are temporary but our memoriesare everlasting so do not hesitate to create them
dead from the neck upto the thousands of souls who havedied beneath my skin, picked pink,and those i would not be able tosleep without, for they are the staticvoices in my seashell ears - i amsorry, but not sorry enough to stop.should i scrape my illness frombeneath my nails, there would be noone to wrap my feeble body in theflesh of freckled stars and barkwarnings so softly. this is all i have.there are people who haven't seenthe war here at home, the bloodlapping the shores of our pride.and their eyes don't shine like mine,but their hands leave bruises againstmy temples, peeling the skin from myback like poorly held wallpaper.hope has fled and left me with anempty nest. god trembles when iwake to see another day. no onehopes that sometime i'll be able tolaugh with my heart on my tongue,and they sure as hell don't wipe thesadness that drips down my chinand hallowed neck.for now, my ribs are shut tight likevenetian blinds, my mind is heldtogether with safety pins, and mystomach
unthey call me tide-breaker.my name frequentswhores' mouths,and they speak of mebetween the sailors' maps.I am salt and brinebeneath fingernails,the oncoming threatof dark clouds that hangtheir gallows above the ocean.I'm the enigma,the split-secondflash of lighton the sea's cusp;they only ever thinkthey see me,but I am always there.oh yes,I've seen theirdirtied skin,their weathered faces,that lustful thirstin the eyes of men surrounded by water.it is only natural, I suppose,for those bound in chainsto grow fond of the metallic clacking.it becomes all they have.and I, well,I am only hereto watch and play my part.their wives at homewill look seawardand sighand wonderbut it is Iwho will have someone to hold.they say mermaidsdrown unworthy sailors,but they never acknowledgethat most men simplythrow themselves overboardat the temptation of something beautiful.
.i put my handsover god's eyes(i know he sees right through me)
too loud to hear. our world isso full of noise that silenceis the loudest cry
post mortem.Some days,we grow old:our memoriesfolded,packed away;little love letters,dated and sealed,a correspondenceof youth,dumpedon the roadside,incongruouswith the fag-endsand drifting crisp-packetsof the fast lane.
Languidly Losing LifeLanguidly Losing Lifeconstant consciousnesscreates compositions.blended by burning bacterium;deteriorating domiciliation.downgrading dewdropsof once owned objects, thought totell talesabout all actual activity.
pollutant.he is a boy devoid of sharp colours, riseslike a distant sun fragmented through citysmoke plumes, he paints skies grey, hedilutes turquoise seas, he is always a shadeof nothing. his girl, she dresses him in clowncolours, masks the void with scarlet smilesand peacock feathers, but the hues all fadeunder his watercolour touch. i used to lovehim, but he stripped even the lightest shadesof happiness down to something faded,something missing. dreams in greyscale,life in sepia, i ate blood oranges and paintedmy skin pomegranate and clashed sobeautifully with his frown i think he forgot tocry when i left, dressed in theatre costumesand his girl blazing by his side, her seeing liferose-tinted, him as anything but miserable andme as something more dangerous thandepression.
I am afraid of monsters like you.Bones and sinew clingto the part of methat is not human,the part of me thatis yours.Your lips are readyto pounce mine whenyou lace my neck withthe collar of hope.It hangs too tightly.
only skeletons wear gas masks.vii.God should have made a how-to manual; because the broken don't know how to breathewhen there's no air leftto help keep a dying love alive.
combatantI.it strikes methat this womancould be a palace.I marvel atthe opulent dome ofher brow, her archexpression—skin like a courtyard ofivory tiles,a thousand intersectinggolden lines about herhead and neck.she beams from atop hersunlit tower,beatific and beautiful,spreads her arms likeopen doors,invites you to be one ofthe manywho have wandered herlavish halls.II.I’ve often thoughtof myselfas a castle:all rough-hewn stoneand turrets,a temper like moltentar.my head is crownedwithembattled parapets,weapons readiedat the crenels.I look out from myguerites, my brattices,eyes like arrow-slitsand a murder-holefor a mouth.III.I wouldn’t blame youfor choosing herover me—for regarding my fortressas too daunting,for deciding easy acceptancebetter befit youthan proving your worth—I could forgive youfor being a coward.but you swam the moat,killed the guards,scaled the battlements,demolished my fortifications—and
confessions in a crowded placei. When I was with youI could not write aboutlove in any tense.ii. I'm a messbecause of you.iii. Somedays I think thatI don't remember howyour smile tiltedslightly to the right.iv. There are more dayswhen I wish I could forget.
.a tattoo for everysin, a poppyten yearslater- a meadow
...the contrast only makes me love you moreI trace constellationsacross your arms, andin the wake of my fingertipsrainbows blossom.Among the spread of colorI can't find a single shadethat makes us clash.
heartbreaker.and so she broke his heart afterhe stopped buildingglass houses of trust for her to s h a t t e r