All the cracks in the wall just want to be spiders.

Words deep inside her, her only provider, for all the desire, somehow

vanished.

If only she could

light,

a match.

To dispatch

the intruders.

Whispers drip down walls

like sewage

where rats crawl

and poison calls like nightmares.

In all the beauty

and all the despair.

It was her hair that

made me

wake up,

and then

fall.

Golden brown like cottage towns

her eyes like

a briny sea.

So clear and cold they

washed over me.

I am a drunken sailor sworn off from all land.

I'm a sea lover and when the siren calls

I always

Give.

In.

I knew a girl who wrote poetry, and I know a girl that died.

She was so far away, and yet her words hit close to home.

She was here, and she was there.

We went to different highschools.

I was a baby lesbian.

Barley understanding what that even meant.

I went to her show. A play. A tragedy.

Her words, still touched me.

The first time I used the term 'touched me'
I got snickers from the crowd and had to say "not like that..."

It was sixth grade.

I knew a girl who wrote poetry, and I know a girl who died.

I am glad that I told her I was there for her.

But I still know a girl who died.

My eyes hurt,

and my chest hurts.

And I know it's been many years.

I cannot begin to explain to you how sick you become when you fall for someone who does not want you.

It's strange, and it's saddening.

In my defence. She did kiss me. And she did tell me that she wanted me.

Five years is a long time.

And yet it was not enough time to let me get over her.

Even though I can be happily in love.

It does not stop the memories, the wandering.

Her eyes. Her scent.

I have never again smelt something sweeter, or more toxic.

His love was like a flashlight.
Her love is like a candle.

His love beamed,
And her love burned.

His love was like a flashlight.
False. Mechanic. Operated.

Her love is like a candle.
Dripping, Melting, Alive.

His love did not last.
Once the batteries died.

Her love burned to the end.
Sparks and embers burning bright crimson
long after the wax has melted away.

Her love whisps in smoke,
filling the entire room.

My lungs, my senses blocked.
A flame stings within my heart.

When you are the stranger in someones house.

How can it posses you to touch what you do not know.

You have come into my house and been a stranger in my space.

Do you know not boundaries.

You are a curse in the form of a damsel.

Why did you touch me when I did not ask to be touched?

And then, when, confused and...

Who are you again?

I miss the familiar. The one who made me smile. A friend, a sister.

You are a heathen and I hate that

the next time I

open my bedroom door.

You might be there,

smiling and

maybe

waiting.

Robotic legs, robotic arms some how lead me to the kitchen.
Once I get there, I mean no harm until I can't tell the direction.

Between what is right and what is wrong, and miscommunicated affection.

I drink the poison back as it beckons me and I can't find the description.

Between what is pain, and what is loss, and what is simple addiction.

Oh help me father, oh help me mother. I don't believe in religion.

But tonight I'll pray that the next day doesn't have so much conviction.

Robotic legs and robotic arms made me take the knife, and robotic legs and robotic arms made me write this fiction.