I'm not afraid of the future
I'm terrified.

I've never been a quitter,
so what do I do when you tell me to quit cutting out my problems
so I can watch the blood run down the drain?

I am wrapped entirely with passion,
the best kind, the healthy kind, the kind adults wave off as naive because they miss the feeling.

"I will never like any girl more than you," he said,
dancing with me in the kitchen.
"We'll see," I told him, and smiled as I twirled under his arm.

I would rip my spine in half,
walk on a broken foot until it falls off,
I would ignore every bandage until I bled out
if it meant I could keep doing what I love.

I'll never understand how people are alright with missing out on chances they get to move and glide and float and be completely alive under a spotlight, the whole world looking at you because you're telling a story with body rolls and pointed feet.

I can't decide what sixteen has taught me.
That my mother won't like me until I move out
That happiness doesn't come with a license
That *** doesn't have to be romantic
or that I know how to feel alive.

It is 5 a.m. and I have been awake for days, it feels
It is 5 a.m. and I am almost a year older
but I'm not sure if stripping down to my underwear and ripping out my eyelashes
counts as a celebration.

Tonight we saw shadows in the darkest corners of our eyesight
but we got to sit in the middle of the intersection
and the night wind has left me with goosebumps still on my skin
and the cold but refreshing air trapped through my hair
and I can't believe the world has ever felt small
when there are so many stars to look at.

We look to the sky
the moon almost as high as we feel
make-up smeared and bodies exhausted.
Smiling, I lean against a brick wall
and we laugh because we've just danced our show
we've just danced through life
we just breathe in the air outside the theater
our theater
our world.

figure 8s on my thighs and my heavy heart sinks sometimes
deeper into the ocean I hide it in
sometimes the current gets too strong

His purple lips greeted mine in a dream, once
His pale hands pull me from the air, so my feet land firmly in the grass next to my grave.
The white dress I wear blows up against my skin,
I can feel
but I am not alive
If I could blush, I would.

I want my black lips to wrap around your fingers
and to never feel sad again because I'd hate to have to admit that I have feelings.
Please give me the moon to **** on
so when you kiss me you'll go dizzy from spinning in circles
because we flip and flop
and thrash through bedroom doors
and you've flipped me upside down
and all I want is for you to tangle flowers through my hair
and I can continue to write bad love poems.

reeking with self-worthlessness
because how am I supposed to top that
or top anything
because all I know how to do
and do well
is **** people off
and moments like this
long past you kissing me goodbye
me standing in my doorway left with none of you
but a t-shirt and the hickeys you left on my *******
and I am trapped inside my own color
or lack of
and all they can do is smirk at my black eyes
but they're black because I used to punch out my pupils
with hole punchers I stole from my second grade classroom
because I hate staring at myself in the mirror
and outside the moment of you licking up my thighs,
that's all I can look at
my purple, frozen lips
I sell my ice cold words for 25 cents on the main road
and you've forgotten about the cuts on my wrists
but I haven't because it's all the mirror shows me.

Please can we be king and queen of the night streets
and our thrones will be our bike seats
and the moon will outline our smiles.

My best friend was in my dream last night
happy and dancing beside me again
and nobody ripped their bones in half
or bit through their lips
or drowned.

Wrap the cord around my neck
I'm so pathetically sad when no one calls
mostly I just want to make you waffles and watch you eat them on the blue carpet in the kitchen
because after that you can kiss me
and I can pretend that my heart doesn't hurt everytime I look into your eyes at night
thinking of the end.

Please peel the skin from my bones and kiss my rib cage
you can bite my lip off if you want,
at least then you wouldn't have to listen to me talk.

my skull and bones remember my crush
when I pushed the nails through my tongue
and told me to "wait for it
wait for it
wait for my love
because I don't know how to feel without cuts."

I haven't talked since
and my bones are still shattered
and only my own life can save itself, I know
I am trying.
I'm trying to balance love and hate
but I can only remember the slicing of my flesh
when hate licked up my chest and bit through my lips
my hair is tangled and covering my sight
the only escape is through my own mind.

I am trying and hiding
and hiding
and hiding
and ripping my bed sheets apart
so I can suffocate in them
but I never let me because
life is beautiful
and I can be beautiful,
but my spilled blood is not.

I chew my nails off
even after a perfect night and day
because in the early sun of the first of this month,
you pushed my hair from my face and whispered,
"Goodmorning," with a smile
and I will miss you
like I will miss scraping my body against a blade
or sliding against a stage
leaving my heart in the spotlight.
Because just like that blade,
one day you will hurt me, I guess,
but you'll be in my dreams
and I'll wish to have you back to calm my shaking hands.

I guess blood stains,
and if you peel off your fingers it's hard to write with them anymore.
If you cut out your thighs it's hard to walk on them anymore.
If you slice up your hips it's hard to rotate them anymore.
The lightning keeps hitting,
blowing craters into my chest,
and some nights I hollow my heart out and let its remains soak into my sheets.
Those are the nights that I cry and think of you,
I think of you to fall asleep
because you are the only thing that has not broken my heart yet.


Oops.

Tonight I promised myself I'd take a picture of him.
(I don't have enough.)
I told myself to wait until it was dark and my chili pepper lights had to come on,
to wait until he was shirtless
his hair was messy
and to wait until the perfect moment-
right after he's seen all of me,
and he's smiling
because there is no outside world,
there is no outside,
the entire universe exists only on my mattress,
and we are laughing because nothing could possibly be wrong-
the perfect moment to pick up my camera and take a snapshot of
the most beautiful guy I have ever met
that is finally shedding his thick skin and letting me see how he has hurt, too.

The perfect moment came and went,
and I was too busy listening and laughing
and lightly tracing his bones with my fingertips and lips
to even think about my camera or remember cameras existed in the first place.

You don't smoke and I don't smoke
but sometimes I have dreams of sitting on a tree branch in a faux leather jacket
while you sit beside me and twirl my hair around your fingers
my eyeliner smeared the way you like it
black nails and black lips, the black death sits between my lips,
don't even worry about a thing,
I'll die anyway.

I've been liking myself lately
and it's a different feeling,
but I think it's a good one.

I'm not sure if I really ever want to be happy,
or if I want to be tragic.

I can never answer
Which one is more fun?

who killed himself
but nobody will tell me how,
and I'm too afraid to ask
because what if it wasn't an accident
and what if,
one day,
I know another boy.

When I'm dreaming,
all I feel is the stage beneath my toes as I pirrouette into the spotlight,
and all I want is to leap forever
because I'm crying out there,
putting all of my panic into my palms as I slam them into the ground
again and again
this is all of my frustration
finally letting out
and I can feel your lips here
on the edge of my fingertips.

Because I used to have role models
but they all just let me down
with insults
and hypocrisy
and poking needles into my lungs when I'm trying to take a big, deep, fulfilling breath.

I write a bunch of sad things in my notebook, and if I die tonight,
that's all you'll have to remember me with-
my depression.

I want to leave you with more than that.

Lately I've been thinking I'm invincible
and wondering if I'll spoil our romance by trying to make it last forever,
as most women do, they say,
but we both know I've never listened to 'them'.
I have this teacher that's been crying and yanking out dandelions in her yard
because what else is she supposed to do
but she tells me I'm a little more likely to develop a psychological disorder.
I think we're all psychos, really,
all depressed and anxious, at least,
and sometimes my ceiling never stops spinning,
but I think I'll be alright.

I think I could start smoking and start dying
and stop caring and keep crying.

**** my skin,
tear
tear
tear it apart
with my anxious nails and teeth
and razor blades
I am my own brain surgeon
constantly picking
trying to figure out what is wrong with me.

I want you to take me into the woods again
mix my flesh with bark
and I can go home
****** with leaves in my hair
because sometimes there is no point in being good.
What is good, anyway?

I am so full of rage
and disappointment
because I can't figure out
why I am never good enough for myself.

I won't get enough sleep tonight,
but I keep thinking of how old my mother's ankles look
and the way I saw three comets fall tonight...
I wished for more nights like these.
You said I'd get them.

The sweat drips down my red face as I focus on my heart rate
and look in a mirror that shows me how high I can kick,
but I need to 'be more intense.'
I think of her kissing your neck,
much better at it than me,
nibbling your ear,
much better at it than me,
she is much more confident
because she was plenty of first kisses,
and god, I wish I was yours.
I think of her clear face and the way that you still hang out
and the way she cheated on you
and the way she sometimes says hi to me in the hallway,
which makes me want to put my hand around her throat and say,
"I am so glad you lost the best thing that happened to me."
I think of this to make my pointed toes have a purpose
to make me dance with anger
but even after the song is over,
I can't stop
thinking.

I've been told that the stars will be falling tonight
but nobody taught me how to catch one.

I'm afraid to tell you that I am not joking when I say that
your eyes shine brighter than my own smile
and I'm not really sure what being in love feels like,
but if it's not this,
then it's not worth it.
The grease has piled on top of my face and head and heart
but you cleanse it with every pointed star
and squinted eye looking at me parallel to my shoulders
our chests perfectly in line.
I always have to catch my breath when the amount of clothing covering your torso
changes reality to a daydream,
but not even trophies match the fluttering I feel when you look me in the eye to tell me
"You are so beautiful,"
immediately after you've seen every single one of my flaws.

I am in the middle of a thunderstorm
but not nearly naked enough
not nearly happy enough
but letting the rain wash through my hair and sprinkle across my arms
because I am finally realizing
that I have been bored for so long, now.

And I need a ******* change.

Sometimes I try to believe in God
mainly because you want me to
because you don't want to have to believe that I am going to Hell.

But babe,
I hope you like seeing me burn
and I hope you tell all the angels
that you were once in love with that ******* fire.

Maybe I am a little depressed.

I got new shoes today. I was so excited to wear them
so I put them on right away and walked through town all day
my black footsteps leaving my mark in the mud,
and even though I loved them,
they still rubbed my skin raw
and I bled through my socks,
but I know we all get blisters.
I know we're all depressed,
but I think some of us are dark,
and then there are those of us who are darker.
Who are self-destructive and aware of the night that grips us
and we say we want to get better,
but what would we do if we ever stopped being sad?
Who would we be,
in a world without demons pouring out of our eyes?

See, I kind of like seeing the blood running down my heels.

It's so bright out
and I walk down the street dressed in black on black on black

My teeth aren't falling out tonight
but the stitches in my thighs are
and I'm not sure how long I can hold myself up
without a reason to.

I try to read my own mind sometimes,
but it never really works itself out
so I end up writing it down and leaving it undecipherable.
...But I'd like to walk on coals, I think
placed onto your chiseled chest above your heart
and I will dance for you there
and you can remember me as that weird girl you were in love with once,
and in the future,
you'll smile at my name
because you'll be laughing at me.

I am assured that I am not the best influence,
but I have great plans
that will become great failures,
and you will stop being proud of me
long before time calls me old.
With cuffs around my wrists that chain me to my own shadow
I walk down the only road that helps me stop staggering
drunk and blind
holding the hand of the devil
because I sold my soul to rock and roll
and the chances of what could have been.
What might be.
My worst fear is being bored,
and that's it.

We are the backwards
sleeping in underwear and crawling through covers
to hide from the only person that has seen every part of us.
They always find us, though,
so we burrow into their shoulders...
hoping their scent will act as medicine.

And it does.

I wonder what it's like to be the skin on your wrist,
wrapped so tightly around your veins,
clear and soft and smelling of you.

The ice keeps hitting my teeth tonight,
chopping my gums so I can never talk
because if I open my mouth the blood will run out
and you will ask if I did this to myself.

Bodies smashing
lights flashing
skulls crashing against ***** sinks
and kids are snorting another line because what else is there to do but die.
I'm in a tight black dress,
one I starved myself into,
one I grind in
with empty dreams of ballet shoes
and you are not here anymore, because only fools have *** with an empty shell of a girl,
and we both know that you have never been a fool.
I stare at the red glow of the ceiling and watch my red flow down the drain
while I blink
to see your smile
to see a million smiles
I blink to remember that I smiled once, too.

I bet it's hard to forget me
when I'm breathing down your neck.

I want my thighs to make you lick your lips
and my mini-skirt to make you clench your fists,
I want my black lips to haunt your daydreams
and my dark eyes to drive you crazy.
Come closer,
because I may seem shy,
but if you run your fingers gently up my spine,
I can trace you with my tongue
and let my lust get the better of our love.

Your scent is clinging to me
and I taste your salt.
It is too late for me to be thinking of you rather than dreaming,
too late to want to dance, but god,
if I could dance in my sleep,
my pointed toes would put holes in my covers.

I have shark teeth.
I use them to bite into myself when the night is too dark and I need that extra splash of red.
I chomp
and when I smile
it scares you.

My job is to crunch my spine together
so I can wring the problems out of my flesh
and leave them soaking on the floor.

I hope to make this my job forever.

My days are long and short
at the same time,
and I have fallen off of the
'care' cliff,
because I do not care that
I was caught cheating on my test,
because I do not care that
this mess is what I call my room,
because I do not care that
my skin is breaking out and you must lie when you say that I'm beautiful.

Because I do not care that
I am dangling from strings called
"I should." and "You better." and "...or else."