if the reader
falls in love with the character of a book,
their love can be eternal.

he can over and over re-read
each part of his beloved.
he can just stop for a while
and gently touch the mirage.
he can even ****** a piece
and carry it for a lifetime.

but what happens
if the character
falls in love with the reader?

your sticks and stones
didn't break my bones
but god, did your words hurt me

let's have a court,
the type with guns and swords
and there will be no jury

The version of me you never met
Was the best secret that I ever kept

False smiles and a witty joke
You'll never see past the positivity cloak

Why would I tell you I'm not fine
When you don't let me in your mind

Hair up and makeup done
You'll never see me in the evening sun

Meals prepped, trash stashed away
You hear only what I want to say

Even this account is best kept private
If you knew my truth, you'd never survive it

i don’t know
i don’t know
why i feel this
why it won’t stop
why i can’t fix it
why it is me
i don’t know
all i know is i don’t know

A strange pattern for
writing has come
to me lately.
The skeletons of
poems form when I
lie down for a nap.
Sleep always calls,
and bones want to
dance and grow skin.
Lilacs bloom, and I feel
the inner thigh of
eternity, soft and wet.

I can't get any rest.
I have to jot down the
notes or they turn
to ashes and blow away,
or, they are buried deep in
mud and slumber,
impossible to dig up.

I sleep with a notebook and
pen, as I drift off,
I whisper to the tortured
bones,
don't cry and try not to worry.
I'll bring you to life.