You Buy Me A SodaYou've got the friction in your shoulder blades to start a forest fire,and a lot of things can be divine sometimes."Get off your skin," she said. "You never liked coffee anyway."
Is it like today?Pulling out the kind of nature that only your ankles can touch,you guess God's name and tell me how similar we look without any skin."Hush, darling," you said. "We don't have to share the same universe today."
We are far too young and clever.I am of other suns than you,and in the light all I can see are your shadows. He asks, "What's gotten into you lately?"and she says, "Obviously not you."
The face you make is priceless.I've got wrists like empty pockets,and a spine I made out of your weekly pay.You crack open my bones, and scour for the loose change.
Swallow My AstronomyHe had a black hole for a mouth,and eyes like the dying stars that I would never collide with."Speak me the universe," I told him.He laughed, and swallowed my galaxy.
Cheap Talk"My body is a language," she said. "Can't you read?"
I'm not listening anyhow.Make them believe thatAll the people in the world areSomething beautifulThat only you and I canUnderstand when we close our eyes andRun so far away with our thoughts like aBuzz in the back of our brains becauseAnatomy is something that we still haven'tThought too much aboutIn the dark behind our eyelids that willOnly visit us whenNo one else is around.
Soy Sauce for the Closed MindYou've got hips like an avalanche,and a body made of fortune cookie philosophy.She says, "Take your head off when you're talking to me. inbedinbedinbed."
I won't tell anyone.Mouths made of masturbation, and eyes like dying stars,you aim for something short of profanity.
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
Ugly Scars“Why do you cut, dear?”“Doesn’t it hurt?”Of course it does –It hurts more than I’m worth“Why do you cut, dear?”“Aren’t you ashamed?”Of course I’m embarrassed,But I’m used to the blame.“Why do you cut, dear?”“Why don’t you stop?”Can you stop a dead bodyFrom starting to rot?Because, darling, you see,I’m not even here.I’m only a corpseWith no hope, and no fear.“Why do you cut dear?”Well, don’t you see?There’s a pain insideSo deep within meAnd it’s coming to the surfaceBut no one understandsSo I put that painInside my hands.And I lay it outFor all to seeOn wrists so redAnd forearms that bleed.“Why do you cut, dear?”“It’s ugly, you know.”Ha.“ugly” is exactlyWhat this is meantTo show.
Self-Harm Isn't a HandbagPick at the scabs of the ghosts of scarsOn the insides of my wrists,White hot pain memories shoot up my veinsAnd the tear vapour creates mistsIn the lenses of my glasses.My world narrows down to thoseWhite stitch marks that keep thePatchwork of my forearms and thighsTogether,Keeping the dark ugly hurtOn the insidesForever.How could I have done this to myself?Could I blame you?And him?And her too?No.I’m a big girl now,And the blame rests on my wrists,That flicked the bladeAnd sprayed the blood,And the mind that forbadeMe to ask for help.I’ve said it beforeAnd I’ll say it again;It isn’t beautifulTo put yourself through such pain.When your head is buzzingFrom the hit of the highOf a new cut on your thigh,Or your mind is lost in a mistOf ecstasy from a new sliceOn your wristAnd you’re dependent on itA junkie needing a hit,It isn’t pretty or cute or special.No amount of kissesWill undo the cutsOr absorb the scars.No
Anxiety attackAs the attack begins,I feel myself slipping away again.And I question things that are better left unsaid.And contemplate if I am better off dead.My anxiety is killing me,I feel my hands shaking.And I am sobbing.And am I dying?I am just trying,To get a grip.But I feel my reality slip through my finger tips.Nothing is real,Except every bit of pain my mind forces me to feel.Every memory that I had shoved away.Is now racing around my brain.It's driving me insane.And my limbs turn to jello.Every time my head hits the pillow,Before I go to bed.I start to panic and I am wide awake instead.More thoughts are swarming around like a hurricane.Please,Make it stop!And just like that,The attack is gone.
The Wrong Side Of MidNightOn The Doctor's TrainI Met The Princess Of The Dawn,But We WereOn The Wrong Side Of MidNight.
to be heard (speak)i would write youinto sentienceif these sentencesweren't so wasteful. words, dismantle worry, overwhelmcall it a stanzabut this is ab-b-b-breakdown;deterioration riotingwild and tearingat my language. stomach, curdle scribe, pausei would hold youif only i couldstop these handsfrom scribbling.i would open myselflay bare rampant wishful thinking,scrawl suns and stars that do nothingexcept shine bright and uselessscreaming your namein technicolour until maybejust maybei caught your attention;i would open myselfif only i weren'tso deathly afraid. mind, climb limbs, followheart, steady your beating;handle adjective gently,for some things are notmade for embellishment.bravery is a promiseand i,the anathemaof fidelity.you soar, you swim,you shine;and i tire of assemblingwings that break andships t
Rain and Hypnagogic StatesI glance at you through the sea of babbling faces,and suddenly you're squirming in your seat."How beautiful you are when you dance for me."