I think I am drowning—
but not in her eyes anymore.

The weight pressing me down
isn’t the pull of her stare,
but my own brother’s words,
dragging me under.

My ears ring.
My heart pounds.

I tell myself to breathe,
but my body is no longer mine to command.

The anchor that held me steady is gone,
and in its place, something festers.
A monster seeps through the cracks they left,
spilling into my thoughts,
warping what little of me remains.

I will spend my life yearning,
serving a queen who will never be mine.
I can’t even look at her.

I am a coward—
the same one she first met.
The same monster she first hated.

And like all beasts in their castles,
I will be alone.

Do you ever get that feeling, like you’re nostalgic
For a life that you haven’t lived? Maybe it’s the
Dreamy filter, or the yearning music -
Maybe it’s that space within you that’s a little hollow,
A vacant room in an overflowing house.

Inside you, there are versions wandering the streets
Of a crowded city, where every smell and scent
Is a reminder of a life you lived once upon a time.
There are versions sitting in windy bedrooms,
Talking about life so easily, not knowing it would be
The last time.

There are versions who swim in pools, breathing in
The soapy scent of chlorine. Versions that have
Learned to love, or maybe forgotten how to
Versions that were hurt so badly they decided
It would be easier not to care at all

And there’s the version that
sits in front of the screen
Remembering a past that was a memory long before now.

In my world
Your absence is an offensive crime
As my heart is under arrest
And only your presence can bail me out

i watch his
raven black curls
flowing in the wind
settling perfectly on his
forehead

i smell the
cologne on his wrist
and he asks ‘what do you think’
‘i think you’re perfect’
is what i would say
but i don't

i brush by
his hand
and a part of me
shatters
knowing i won’t hold it

i hear
the melodious ring
of his laughter
putting me in a trance

i don’t taste
his breath on mine
and i wouldn’t mind
having a reminder
of his lips on mine

I thought we buried this alive but my fingers are raw and ***** from digging just to find an empty casket; it died long before we could ever bury it, and no amount of dirt or digging or wood and nails could ever bring it to life again

it died a unceremonious death, no one aware enough to mourn it because they didn’t know it was dead

we sat with the corpse because that was how it lived; silent and still but with a unfamiliar stench that everyone around can smell, but never know

if no one is mourning it, did it ever die?