life is so unpredictable,
it changes with the seasons,
even your coldest winter,
happens for the best of reasons,
and though it feels eternal,
like all you'll ever do is freeze,
i promise spring is coming,
and with it, brand new leaves.

We always took nap time for granted.

It's loud.

Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.

She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.

I touch myself,
wishing it was her.

- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -

The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.

I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.

- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -

It's loud.

The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.

Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.

A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.

Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.

Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.

Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.

Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.

On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.

i can't even seem to write
without my hands shaking
and feeling like i'm rocking back into oblivion

i can't seem to remember
all the good times i thought we had
but twas not until we went our separate ways
did i realise

you were a flower, shining brightly
soaking up the affection others gave to you
taking it within your cells
manipulating such an innocent love into empowering bloodlust

laced with your unforgiving poison,
you ****** purity and joy out of every person
who showed vulnerability

you were different.
the moment i confronted you,
you hissed at me for my "selfishness and arrogance"
and our love story ends there.

only months later did it hit me
what you'd really intended and done

at one time, you came back, crying to me
and i tried to explain what you'd done,
but you disregarded my attempts and blamed me for your actions.

deceptive little plant,
when will you learn?

Love bids you welcome
make yourself at home
relax, rest, be.

The poor in all society
are the true measure
of societies wealth
poor beyond poor
all naked souls protest
" its their own fault"

captain's log, #6

3/7/16, 9:17 a.m.

i woke up to the sound of rain and birds, it's almost spring and i'm nostalgic for something that i'm not sure has happened yet. 

captain's log, #7

3/11/16, 2:35 a.m.

at this point i don't even know why i still grieve over you. i've taken back what was once mine, to the best of my ability, but i think that you still have a tight grip on the parts of me that i'm not able to grow back. or maybe it's because i can't remember a time before i was either madly in love with you, or mourning the loss of your interest. me being "over it" means nothing when those words are still etched with traces of you. i can tell myself to get over it, that you have, that you're in the past, that none of this was ever real, but it was. it still is, somewhere. and in that somewhere, it grows. you will never be just, gone. 

captain's log, #8

3/11/16, 4:00 a.m.

let's go somewhere. somewhere far away, just for a while, where everyone else looks like ants. i wanna hold your hand there. i wanna go somewhere with you. 

captain's log, #9

3/16/16, 6:00 a.m.

it's only the beginning of a creation, but i already have that feeling in my gut, the one that can only accurately be described as nostalgia for the future. i feel things that don't make any sense, but here are some things i know; the weather's getting warmer, the days are getting longer, the flowers are tearing themselves open, and when i close my eyes i see your hand in mine. often times i'm not sure that i remember how to not be afraid, but i still find myself diving in head first. i can't stop thinking about two days ago when my therapist told me that it seems as though i like torturing myself. 

(EDIT ON 3/30/16: stop forcing yourself to like girls, stop falling in love with love.)

captain's log, #10

3/28/16, 7:04 p.m.

keep forgetting to write when i remember how to be happy. when she left, she didn't close the door, and he walked right in and turned on the lights that have been off for too long. his teeth are a little crooked, and he's only got one dimple, he hates these things but they make my chest flutter like it'll burst into a thousand flowers any second. i've waited months for this. i wish on every 11:11 that he won't be as fleeting.

captain's log, #1
 
2/26/16, 4:06 a.m.

my heart is growing, but has turned into an anchor. i guess a bigger heart means a heavier one, too. i remember what lightning bolts feel like. the elephant's feet are back. 

captain's log, #2

3/3/16, 5:05 a.m.

i think i know why night is the enemy. without light, there's no colour. i look out my window now, i can see a sun peeking over the horizon, and i know that the world does not spin for me. so why doesn't my brain work the same? i don't remember how or when this infinite night crept up, but i feel like someone took the saturation bar behind my eyes and slid it all the way left. i miss outlook. i miss the sun. 

captain's log, #3 

3/3/16, 9:52 p.m.

your bones get so weary and cold that all you're able to do is sit in the shower with the hot water all the way up, and it makes you feel less disgusting for a bit but we all know that letting water run over your body doesn't clean it, or your mind, of this filth. the greatest romantic couldn't make what you did to me sound remotely beautiful. many nights i have stood desperately scrubbing and washing my skin until it's raw but your touch still lingers.

captain's log, #4 

3/5/16, 3:14 a.m.

there are too many things in this world that i crave. i long for a different body, a different place, a different me. the rational parts of my brain know that this is what i've had, what i have, what i will always have and that i should just make the most of it, but depression creeps from somewhere dark, far below where my feet stand, and moves its way up my spine like a fiery slug. i am now realizing that the devil on my shoulder never left, only lied dormant. 

captain's log, #5

3/7/16, 2:10 a.m.

been driving too fast with my eyes closed. been smoking again. been forgetting to eat. been thinking a lot about the fine line between, "i want to die," and, "i don't want to live."

A peck of his lips filled with sin
     my labored breathing  
          his calloused hands wander my body
          exploring every inch of me
He holds my hand
      and steals my breath
           with a rope he found in the kitchen
Calloused hands wander over my body
     as he lay me with his ex lovers
          each more beautiful than  the next
          each more grave than the last
Beware of boys with blue eyes like sapphires dropping in the ocean