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
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
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
i don't call my scars black holes. even though my scars are swallowingme down their spiny throats i continue to call them stars because you cannotsee black holes( & these wounds are far from invisible )
three stages before an eclipse.i.my tears are scalding, bringing back old wounds from the dead& letting them paradedown my wrists[ and my thighsand my stomach ]like my pain is somefestival the demonsin my mind canall enjoyii.my muse is sick& i'm beginning to seestars for what they really are: burningballs of gas that i will never reachiii.never before have bridgesscreamed at me so loud"you should really try to fly"& if i stand close enoughi can almost hearthe countdown burningthough my ears 321
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"
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
blame it on the lateness of the hour.I.my room is engulfed in shadows and they dance c i r c l e s around my deteriorating mind you call memy phone buzzes and lights up you make the only starin this artificial night skyII. one, two, three-- no.that last one was two, this one is three or maybe it's one you come & make the count go down to zero, but you can't hide the pills forever my sick mind needs the medicineIII. you whisper shakespeare into the crevice of my collarboneand tell me that we'll be infinite,starcrossed lovers but your lips are onlytattooing kisses that say
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
.horrors prey ondreams, and sleep cando nothing about ita lamb straysfrom the flock;a wolf grins
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.
these confessionsweren't meantto be hers(these whispers should have listened should have stopped mid-sentence)but the paper cranesfrom yesterdayhad been flownthrough her windowby handsthat weren'ther own(her shadow should have listened should have flittered away in the sun)and she wishesthey won't evercome home
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.
.crescent moon- silverhook in the sky fishing forstars; you catch my eye
...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.
now i see the stars.there was a time when icouldn't catch my breath whenever ithought about you , (crippled lungs and-boy, you hit me like an asteroid,there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,even withoceans of my tears cried onnights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,andfor a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,weighted to the ground andburied in myself, butwhere there is no light there are no shadows, andsometimes, i wonder if i miss me.yes, yes i do.i may not see the moon, but
mescalinewe raise bygone czarsto walk amongst the livinglike travelers in blue skulls,& i am a preachermade of offhand remarks &long-healed headaches -oh, the whole world is catatonic.
.a tattoo for everysin, a poppyten yearslater- a meadow
lunarWhen I was six years old,I decided I wanted toeat the moon.Mom with her pink frayed bathrobeand tired eyestold me to go to sleep,that I had school in the morning.Dad with his stacks of booksand prickly beardtold me that it was impossible,the moon was too distant.Well, guess what?I ate the fuckin moon.And it was delicious.Bitches can't tell me shit,I'll eat the fuckin moon if I want to.
flawsilently, the statue contemplates his cracks
ObsoleteObsoletemy mind revels in antiquity,the shadows of tomorrow.showing shaded silhouettesof the future,while phantoms paint pasts.penumbras partiallyparasol the sun.eclipse of what was,sprinkling flashes of dustand what could be.but what could've beenis nothing but a memory.and these fading reflectionsare not your grandmother's antiques.
GhostGhosti hold my own wrist,as if it's broken,'cause there are no hands,available left to hold it.to rest in the baseof your touch cannot happen.it's much too tough to ask.so i sit staringinto a blank field,eyelids empty, body in reverie,mind in ennui,sick of you and i.i love youbut hate i fell toodeep into the pool,of what I thought was true.5 feet, 5 inches,brown locks,spectacled eyesonce folded around my 5'7'' frame,now left a shell.my arms hold me,as i clutch my abdomen,and rest against the floor.i lie there,knowing the pain will finally stopbut aware,that it's just beginning.because the hardestpart about this,is loving a ghostthat isn't dead in body,but in your mind,and you can't kill her,no matter how muchyou wanna take the gunand pull the trigger.so i let pellucid phantomsperplex the crevicesof my intricate labyrinth.and i let the apparitionfly around inside,before it fades and dissipates,just like the b
nothing caught beneath my wingsi was a bird when youwere just a little grainof rice forgotten on theshore, and i ate you up.devoured you, sucked themilky marrow from your core.but oh, how you filled allmy empty spaces, swelledand sprawled into my verybeing, until i was fitto burst and finally whole.
wisteria.i can think of no other timewhen i found the rising dawn more beautifulthan a falling midnightthan that morning when we laid amidst a meadowwith flower crowns and ivy heartsand you whispered dreams into my earand held me soft and gentle,like the lining of a casket.
Languidly Losing LifeLanguidly Losing Lifeconstant consciousnesscreates compositions.blended by burning bacterium;deteriorating domiciliation.downgrading dewdropsof once owned objects, thought totell talesabout all actual activity.
.they say that you are thework of the devil; you'll haveblack orbs for eyes and a tongueas sharp as your fathersand i hope you will not feel a thingwhen they pull back your blanketsand carry you out, when they leaveme with nothing but creases
heartbreaker.and so she broke his heart afterhe stopped buildingglass houses of trust for her to s h a t t e r
and so she broke his heart afterhe stopped buildingglass houses of trust for her to s h a t t e r