A fool is he that shares his bed with the fear in his head,
My choices weigh my down, like cement shoes they pull me under the ever rising tide of self-loathing that constantly threatens to drown me.
Why do I feel such hatred for those eyes in the mirror, I can only stare for so long lest the urge to put my head through the reflective pane become too much.
It is a fire.
It burns within me, this anger, this disgust.
The shadows sing quietly so as no one else can hear.
Whisper abuse, taunting,
I am weak, hopeless and predictable,
As always, I rise to the bait.
Shackled, bound, as much a prisoner as any convict rotting behind bars,
I waste away within my mind.
I'll lash out at you!
I will...
Can't stop till I've had my fill,
I starve for blood and my own will do,
I hate that I want to hate you,
I hate that I fall short of the mark,
I hate and I hate and I hate,
Until I'm completely lost in the dark...

I'll **** your demons,
Knowing you can't **** mine,
And when asked if I'm okay,
I'll respond with "I'm fine",
I'm not your burden,
Though I may be your friend,
Put the pressure on and I'll break before I bend.

i’m so disgusting— grease-stained, paint-stained, dust and decay. the label said dry-clean only but you put me on a rinse-and-dry cycle and called it a day. i’m all cleaned up but nothing fits the same. is this what they call salvation? scrub the sins from our sooty souls, leave them in the sun to shrink, shrivel like snails burned by salt. take it back, give it back, give me back; i’m spotless but it feels so wrong.
     how do i repay you? credit? cash? my intestines looped like garlands in my arms, my heart like a pulsing jewel in my palm? i can’t afford an arm and a leg so that would have to do. your service has left me in shrunken skin; when i burst at the seams it’ll be my guts that splatter on the floor. look, it’s not like paying you back would be hard (it still hurts still hurts).
     you tried to fix me but now i’m worse than worthless. no one wants someone they can’t show the world. it’s your fault, your fault (i’m still to blame). you made me this way, i begged for it in the first place. this wasn’t supposed to be a ******* diy. read the label next time, *******.

You set the table
making sure we both have
a napkin, two forks
and a knife

I spend hours
preparing a meal
that might be enough
to satisfy both of our appetites

we sit across from each other
I ask you to hand me the bowl

it is already empty
you are already full

You
always content
to leave me
starving

There are
lines along the shadows that
trace every wall in my room,
cast from the sunny days we
spent together.

The gleam
lifting off of the paint
hazed our home with
peace, and uncertainty
in that order.

Our hands
grew laced in messy knots
as twisted sunflower stalks.
We basked in the neverending sun
and photo synthesized
love, the
love we shared
and the
love we swallowed.

We devoured rays of light
like emperors of the most
beautiful gardens, until the
masses had no more to give.
And I was made to suffer in
your eternal scorn for not
giving you more,

for

you believed you were the
very hand that fed us. You
told me you
rose in the east,
and set in the west
so we could be amassed in our riches.

I had nothing left to give you because I gave you everything I had and it was not enough.

I just want to be enough to share my days with someone I can feel at home with.

Now, I've found that same
silver-shine light in the eyes of
another who graces the presence
of my hands and fills my heart
with monarchs of old, with tiny
wings fluttering in the gentle
air. And I hope to be enough for
her.

I resent you for the way you used to
shut all of the lights off and leave me
in the empty rooms of your house
while your self centered devotion
ran circles around the driveway
and pushed me further into the street.

I have found someone that I would like to spend my time with. And while I no longer feel anything for you, the damage you have done to me will not fade.

I can apply new coats to make the walls shine less, but just knowing of the old paint is enough to make me sick. I can pull up all of the weeds you left among my flowers, but just knowing of the roots is enough to make it feel meaningless. Even if it's not.

But this home inside of me is still beautiful, and I will do what I can to restore it.

I carry the grief of you
between my shoulder blades.
Like stones in a heavy backpack.
I feel like I've just jumped into a river.

I believe I deemed another poem the last apology
So this is a poem of what's left
Though I'd like to say otherwise
You were the first, the last and the worst
You were the first person to teach me what love meant
The last person I'll ever let break me down so many times before
I finally realized you were the worst pain this heart has ever felt
And just to be clear
What's left is pain, anger and memories draped in holy light that no longer exists
But please let me thank you
For turning me into the same kind of emotionless *** driven animal you're probably ******* as I read this poem
Let me thank you
For eradicating any hope I had of embracing my own vulnerability
Because of you my walls are so high I can stare at dying souls without staining the skin under my eyes
Let me thank you
For showing me this world is not fair
As if I needed further proof
As to what my world become after you offered up your heart to the next five people who treated you the *******
You are to blame for the demons living in my heart, my home
And you had nothing to do with how none of that had the chance to embody me
I won my battles for me
But please let me thank you
For giving me one hell of a chance to beat the **** out of my hatred
Snap the backbone of my disdain
Obliterate the demon you gifted me
And walk away unscathed

C.N. / Words written in the sky that is my mind

The stitches pull apart at the seams
Unless the words are undone
And you un-speak them;
Something that can never be.
We eat whole heartedly, parted,
On the barrier resentment has erected.