my friend called the other night
all tangled up in a thorny mess
but i found no words that helped

or reassured him as he drove down 95
the voice automated system, his sole companion
the gps signals, amplified his shaky breaths

the scene was so ******
they barely identified his body
is this guilt that sits on my chest?

lapping at my heart like a dog
who sits in silence, waits in silence
for a friend that will never come home

Why am I made to feel guilty for having loved him?
It wasn't my fault that he wasn't who he said he was,
and it didn't make my love any less genuine.

Why do I have to brunt all of this shame
for my innocent first real attempt at a safe love?
How was that fair to me?
All I wanted was to love and be loved.

But no, I had to pull myself together,
and immediately turn to shunning,
mocking, and avoiding him,
not even a month after he left me;
I had to repress how I had felt before to show face.

No one else had loved him as I did,
I was the odd one out,
and so I had to "hate" him too.
I still loved him; it wasn't fair.

He ruined everything
and I couldn't say anything about it,
stuck in the battle of knowing
I had to stand for justice and condemnation
of a man who had last held me in his arms
months before.

His bad behavior, in turn,
stole the grieving process from me.
I had to skip all the steps and lock it away
to protect others, to be strong,
and it wasn't fair.

I'm tired of feeling miserable
for having these good memories of him,
and it isn't my fault that he did bad things;
I just wish this never happened at all.

[ What are you here for? ]

                                            For things I should have finished long ago.

[ You can run while you still can. ]

                                                              ­                 I can't, I am exhausted.

[ There is still time. ]

                       Then I would have to abandon everything I hold dear.

[ But you would be alive. ]

                         What good am I alive if I cannot be with those I love?

[ So you accept your fate? ]

          It was meant to be the moment I stepped back into this world.

[ Your fate is in your hands. ]

              And those who have done wrong will always pay the price.

[ And what would your last request be? ]

                                                              ­               That a miracle happens.

[ A miracle? ]

                     I am ready to pay the price for my crimes but for today.

[ . . . ]

                                                     Just for today I wish I could be saved.

[ That is up to you. ]

                                                I can only hope that I am strong enough.

[ Only time will tell. ]

                                                              ­  Do you think I can make it out?

[ . . . ]

                                                        Can I make the heavens reconsider?

[ . . . ]

                                                              ­                                         I figured.

[ Remember. ]

                                                              ­                                                  Yes?

[ Your fate is now in your hands. ]



                                                      -Kore

I’m sick of watching them squirm on the floor.
But it never ends, I always want more.
Once the feeling seeds,
it’s put on the list of needs.

Is it shameful?
Or is it natural?
I have a needle I can’t get rid of.
It refills itself after each use for free.

It’s plunger is pulled back so easily.
Anything over the course of the day.
Can fill it’s tube with lives.

Can’t help but push it forward.
Release.

It ends not so clean,
Because I am ****** Machine.

Extinguished beneath the pressure of stifling darkness;
the blackness a behemoth caressing me with oil slick fingers.
Bound with shackles of my own forging,
chained to the dank confinement of shame with iron bracelets made up of every hurt I felt, each sting I’d inflicted.

Comforted by the weight of my own disease, dragging me down deeper into the depths of myself;
swarmed by demons cutting slices of me for their devouring.
Blistered fingers claw at the dirt, broken nails taking insignificant strongholds in the battle.
New shackles being forced into place where old ones were severed, cutting new wounds where old ones were healed.

Then, a searing light burns through the airless tomb where I lay,
my sweat still glistening in the after hours of my latest debasement.
Eyes burning, unaccustomed to the phosphorescent glow after years of stapling them shut to the vision of horror I became.
A new tsunami of dishonour throws me back, twisting my shackles tighter around bound limbs.

Now I am free and live to feel the sun on my skin, no longer translucent and sallow.
Each sound and sensation sending ripples of pleasure through my soul, but still
I limp, and my wrists are scarred.

A fleeting regression of an evening bloom
The echo of my wailing voice—distant.
It seeps through the ceramic walls
Even these thick glass windows
cannot sustain a reverberation so profound.
Why retrace every step as an image in mind?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
Why does the image of past faults remain?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
Why does the image continuously bother?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
An echo of wailing voices under my breath
Snipping at my cords, they hush my objection
Silence, silence. Silence!
Remember, remember, remember...
“Do you remember the image of your faults?”
“Tomorrow we shall ask again”

they're spotless, no room for human flaws here.
with faultless sense of selves and fragile attributes
are silver stars, whose homes are cold glittered spotlights
pressured, battered and bruised. look away dear, they're "fine"

they're fine, scared and composed until the next plot twist
rarely, ever so rarely - a perfect one slips
a miscalculation on a regular day
phenomena, wasn't supposed to be that way

perfectionism drove them faultlessly insane
when the known consistent road, shatters to eggshells
"ever so rarely", they reason to the mirrors
with guilt mixing in the blood of walking in fear

inner madness unleashing, black swans reappearing
the wrongs, how cruel that it doesn't let them go on
"this is only once in a blue moon", they echo
deep breathes, clutching close, the past's panic they can't let go