Years later, after you think
you've outrun all your past fears,
you will find yourself sitting
on the edge of your bed,
unable to stand up and face
the world. It's been years
since it happened, since she last
exploded and you let yourself
come close enough to feel
her shrapnel burn through you, but still
you're huddled on the edge
of your bed, scribbling desperate,
terrified words into your notebook
unable to go downstairs
because she is still there.

Is this it, is this
the final sign that I am
damaged beyond repair? Not
only am I now scared
of her blows, I'm sitting
frozen in the middle of all
the what-ifs. These cuts
you riddled me with in
great swathes of pain, aren't
healed as I thought they were, they
are now bleeding and
stinging me years later. Learning
that you are so much weaker
than you thought and so
much more broken makes
you ask whether
you will ever
be whole.

we smoked our cigarettes
and belted out car duets

never listened to any advice
figured trial and error would suffice

we ate past when we were full
and felt life's strange alluring pull

but we learned it was never enough
to sit back and relax and love

you can't repeat the past, Gatsby
I wish someone would have told me

I said I’d always be honest,
but I lie right through my teeth
when I say that I’m okay.
I guess it’s kind of like
how you said you’d
always want to stay.
I am constantly on a steady diet
of “goodbyes”, “farewells”, and “let go’s”.
At least I’ll never go hungry
with everyone always leaving.
I’m tired.
My head refuses to sleep.
My hands are never steady.
I used to think scars
were things that couldn’t heal,
but now I understand
they’re just reminders
of all the love that I could feel;
even if the vacancy sign
on my bones flickers dimly.
Memories keep clogging my veins,
inconsistencies have clouded my vision.
I’ve learned that honesty is relative
when words can change their meaning.

she wears her jewelry proudly
purple, sometimes green,
maybe yellow
but it is always
beautiful.

she will tip back her head
and show you her
long neck and you
are overcome by the sight
of such
beauty
in one person.

sometimes she wears bracelets,
delicate
purple bands encircling
her dainty
wrists
and the colors are so beautiful.

she hardly ever wears rings
but for the purple one,
maybe an amethyst
that sits upon one of her fingers
and she will flinch
even wince if you try
to touch it.

but sometimes, maybe just once or twice,
you might even manage to
forget
that her necklace,
and those lovely bracelets
and that beautiful amethyst
which she wears so very proudly
is made up of

**fingerprints.

does a lion lie                                                                     do lies settle here,
beneath these sheets                                                             in these nested enclosures,
i've found myself strewn upon?                                      or corridors, from i to places
                                                                                                   never invented?
or just clusters of stars,
too distant                                                                               seven things
from wherever i found myself,                                        burnt oceans into sand;
or what breathing was,                                                         two glimmering points.
or emptiness?
                      there you were,                              a sign of rehearsal,
pulling life down, on trails hung                               or omen, or,
in perfect lines from                               just kind of nothing
each &every; spark in the sky                                         at
                                                                                 all.
nine. sharp.
am i
always just
this unmotivated?

do i truly perceive
the embedding nothingness                                                      does this get
from life, or just in dream still?                                                          any easier?

    
                                                                                                         i'd rather find
                                                                                                               myself at
                                                                                          the bottom of the ocean,
                                                                    some
                                                                             days,
                                                                      i guess.                                   sorry.