abandoned at the alter--
or just abandoned.
I have nothing to hold on to
except the tatters
of this deceased
laced satin, this crumpled
veil, covering hope and covering light.
one shoe, its matching partner had scuffs to
begin with--what a fraud.
white is supposed to be the color of new beginnings
and black is for funerals--
but I guess white is the new black,
I'm left to fend by myself, nothing
to celebrate--
the cake was too pretty to be eaten
anyway.

and don't you know it,
we're all in our wedding dresses,
looking abstractly at broken watches,
dust-filled corners,
waiting for the groom
that will never
come.

Frost
creeping along the window
pane
that trails along with spidery crystal
hands
and blooms on the glass the
same
way she captured my fascination
until
I realized that I was the glass and
she
aimed to smother, to obscure, all other
views.

I don't know
why
I keep writing about you when
all the words from your mouth
forsake my existence
with an empty
"hi" or a shallow "how are you?".

when i've exhausted all my resources
i find that the material that i
use for inspiration
is you--
nothing makes me angrier and
nothing makes me happier,
darling,
you're killing me
you're using my own words against me
you wrapped up your insanity and sent it
on express mail to my mind--
oh yes, you know you're killing em
and you're playing me--
i'm another domino, and you're the  rolling
dice ready to knock me down, you're the
wild Ace that's gonna blow apart my plans,
the chessboard is your plea for power
and you just took my queen--
you own all the real estate in monopoly of my heart
and
twister is not just for flexible bodies, but for how much i will end up
bending over backwards for you--
you know i haven't mastered my poker face and you're already have made
a full house in my bones.
Games, you act like there are no games, but
i know you're trying to break me
and the saddest part is...
i wouldn't mind
being a little bit broken
by you.

Love me for my destruction, for my mayhem --
after all, loving you isn't so much different,
I could have chosen cigarettes, smokey ashtrays over your
smokey eye make-up,
Or maybe alcohol, sip at lukewarm beer, and become embittered by how
your lips are stained elegantly wine,
and then again, I might've had the opportunity to inhale car exhaust
but your breath is much heavier than monoxide
and much more deadly--
turns out nuclear warfare is much more easily attainable by
your explosive needs
for genocide -- you love those broken hearts,
you little radioactive succubus.
Knives, I could have made love to a knife, but I guess your nails served the same purpose, you've left your mark, okay?
I have a target in the shape
of little crescent marks on my back from you and
people keep
staring.
And yes, I could've injected myself with something stronger like morphine, but
you're already running through my ******* veins --
I looked up "infatuation" in the dictionary but the words kept
blurring because all I could see was your blushing expression
when I used my fingertips like paintbrushes
on your cheekbones.