I imagine myself standing on the edge
of a skyscraper,
and we're holding hands
looking each other in the face.
The wind whips my hair
and the hard rain clears my senses.
We give each other a glance,
wondering if we'll let the voices win,
and then when we meet eyes,
we know that we need to jump together.

The witching hour,
I swirl contents in my glass.
Poison. Potion. Cure.

Even when I seem
to be surrounded by souls,
I still feel alone.

Somebody told me
wounds are healed by time, but mine
are time travelers.

Milk and honey;
one is more luscious and inviting
dripping down your pouty, cherry red lips.
The other is warm and tempting,
but for some reason,
I can't stand to stomach it.

The reason I'm here
is to take away your pain.
Don't you understand?

A godly nectar that is a
blessing only to those worthy
enough to have an encounter.

A golden hue making home
within the shallow depths of
the catacombs,
holding crystals of pollen's past
and honey's future.

A delectable dynasty
that oozes from the waxy,
permeable pores that are succulent
and luscious in nature.

Comb honey;
A godly nectar that is a
blessing to all those that
have been lucky enough to taste.

It has all been said,
a line, a word, a dull phrase,
yet you're everything.

Please resurrect me,
caress my brittle body,
help me become new.

Let me feel again,
Anything. Everything. Please.
I will take it all.

The ledge looks warm and welcoming,
beckoning me with its sleek rocky surface
with the promise of forever dripping down
its granite surface like newly harvested honey,
leaving nature's tongue to arouse my fear of love,
and awaken my unspoken desire for danger.

The conversation took a turn.
A turn, I wasn't expecting.
Like when a yield sign
is on one side of the road
and you have to brake anyway
for the people that don't follow it.

"I'm sorry," you breathed,
hugging your legs close,
tucking your hands behind
your kneecaps.

Your bed suddenly felt
like I was sitting on stone.
"You don't want me anymore,"
I shouted in a pain-ridden voice.
I pulled away, sinking further
into myself and bending over.

You pull for me.
Your hand snags my shirt
and then my arm.
You attempted to pull me
in closer to you.
I never understood why
you wanted to give me
a protective embrace.

"You said you don't want me anymore!"
I reiterated, looking at him with
tear-streaks on my cheeks.
Any hope left was in this one moment,
and it turned out to be the moment
you let me go.

I feel like a storm.
Powerful, striking and dark,
but also afraid.

Aching emotions,
the violin's hum is sharp,
piercing my numb soul.

Sobbing in my hands,
wishing for the world to be
finally at peace.

My lucidity
fights alcohol like how glass
cuts skin like a knife.

Sometimes
I wonder
if the ocean
would swallow
me whole
if I jumped
off of a cliff
and let it
envelop my
aching body.

Sometimes
I wonder what
it would do
once it had
its hold on me.

Would it let go?
Or would it
wash over
my bruises
and scrapes
creating a
bandage
of love
and stinging
sea salt?

Could it handle
each and every one
of my problems
and fears, or would
it shy away from them
just like you did?

Am I worthy?
Of mercy?
Of kindness?
Of love and affection?

Or am I doomed?
To the void?
To being numb?
To feeling incomplete?

maybe one day i’ll look back
and still remember
the way you tasted on the night
you broke up with me.
maybe one day i’ll look back
and see how wrong you were
and how right i was for not
fighting to keep you.
maybe one day i’ll look back
and realize it was a blessing
in disguise that i lost you
and not that i kept you.
maybe one day i’ll look back
and know that you loved me
even though it didn't last.

As selfish as I felt it was,
in the beginning I couldn't understand,
how much he had changed in the time
I knew him and that I didn't want
our time together to end.

Two years later and I'm here,
and I'm able to rethink about the past.
The recollection isn't as hazy
and the memories are less painful
when I can see the picture being painted
in a whole new light.

He let me go because he was unable
to give me the things I needed.
For that, he was doing me a favor,
letting me go so I could find someone
to love me the way I needed to be.

Sometimes I look back on those memories
and they feel more painful than right now.
But at least I can appreciate that
over time, I was able to see he was more
sorry than I once believed him to be.

You tend to say words
that only shatter my heart
to tiny pieces.

Black and gold colors,
the new year is arriving
before I can blink.

Hands carry burdens
that are meant for more than one
person to handle.

The burn I swallow,
it has a familiar taste.
I think it's of you.

Words dripping in desire
like the oozing thickness of honey;
it's too sticky and hard for me to swallow.

Champagne drenched tears,
if only you knew how sour
they were tasting as they dripped
down my frigid cheekbones.

The alcohol couldn't burn the taste
of you away, but it numbed me
slightly for only a moment so I could
gain some spine-tingling clarity.

The sinking ship is
in my thoughts, but navigates
a new charted course.

Each passing wave breaks and reassembles
without so much of a glance or stutter.
Why can't I be so gentle,
yet fierce enough with my words,
that you'd understand how I similarly feel?

The last time we made love is smeared
on my pedestal sink in the form
of my ruby red lipstick, and eyeliner
in the shape of a misguided arrow
resembling your pale purple veins.

Sometimes my dreams take me back
to that moment, wondering at what point
you decided that love was no longer enough
to keep yourself attached to the moments
we were sharing together. If at all.

My chest became so
Hollow at your absence that
Echoes could be heard.

I'm staring out the window,
and the souls that stare back at me
seem just as lost as I am.

They all look like they've seen love,
and have lost it from their grasp.
I let that fact comfort me.

I fall in love with strangers on the street,
picturing a life with them as if the illusion
isn't blinding the way I live my life.

I reach a hand up
hoping it is your face that
my fingers rest on.

I wore you like a bruise
won in a bar fight -
tenderly and surly,
but also,
I didn’t exhibit you
in such a way
that made me proud
to have worn you at all.

My blackberry jam
bruised covered lips
have slowly turned
into a pastel shade
of peachy rose bliss
because they had the
time to heal that my heart
has yet to figure out.

Succumb into me,
and hope for the gift of light
to shine from within.

The stardust I came from
is no match for the explosion
in the universe that I'll create.

You have me in chains,
I await your commands, sir,
but they aren't enough.

Nurture me,
touch me gently
and don't worry
if I'm frightened.
I've just felt this feeling
before and it's never
worked out in my favor.

I just want to be
the embodiment of light,
touching souls to bless.

When I pass away,
bury my ashes in the dirt
along with some seeds.
I want to become a Weeping Willow,
the most whimsical and honest tree
in existence.

When humans become sad,
I can provide them with shade, shelter and
safety, casting my branches over them
in a protective embrace.

I’ll know the pain that burdens their
shoulders, for I was once in that same place.
I can listen to their problems when nobody
else will, and be able to understand.

Their tears will provide my soil
with strength to stand
strong and not falter.
The hums of Earth’s sounds will lull
them back to the safety of reality.

Music is a curse
in the way it brings you back
to a certain place in time.
Whether that moment was special
or if it brought you pain,
Music doesn’t care.
It just is.

Sunlight streams in
through the cracks
in our antique door,
spilling the day's glow
amongst the hardwoods,
glazing it in caramel,
with specks of the past
twirling and dancing
in the broad rush of light.

I compare myself
to the imperfections
highlighted in the wood,
the grains that have suffered,
the ones that bore too much weight,
they now illuminate the scars
that couldn't be buffed out completely.

Thankfully for our souls,
just because we are damaged,
it does not mean we are useless.
I find a great comfort in knowing
our inner light is much more forgiving,
and that none of us are alone.

Take a photograph,
Let it develop slowly,
Patience is virtue.

Salt and vinegar,
the ****** taste in my mouth,
resembles your lips.

You look at me
like you’ve seen God.

Your eyes are the greatest
depths of the ocean while
I’m afraid to wade up
to my waist on the shores.

It’s as if every care you
have in the world has been
replaced by your sudden
desire to touch my lips.

I know your heart is a storm,
but it thunders to know the sun again.

I long for his hands
to caress mine tenderly
for eternity.

How can such a horrible person
be able to create such beautiful art?

My mouth becomes dry,
At the thought of you, my dear,
Dazzling them all.