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The Loss of a MuseThe pain rooted and stretched, / reaching for infinity as its branches spread. / The pain blinded my heat and soul,

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How to ****** Your SoulStep One. / When you are taught that human beings are riddled with gaping holes and survival is nothing more than attempting to stay standing against the rough gusts of wind, allow this fact to coat the surface of your skin. Memorize the mesmerizing patterns of movement of other beings as they struggle to remain on their trembling feet despite the vacancies in their chests, and mimic them with precision. This is the dance of survival that your vacant body will learn until the holes grow too large and the remainder of your body caves. This is how time passes, and this is how time continues. / Step Two.

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Lowly SinnerLowly sinner, feel the lies slide off your tongue. / Feel the rush of your vile breath, poisoned with curses. / Inhale the stench of your pitiful rotting soul.

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UntitledMy body is stitched together by the beauty of language, foolish hopes and dreams, and seventeen years of slight displacement. / My child-like finger are formed slightly smaller than expected, attempting to catch my tears as they fall from my tired eyes but failing each time. / My heart beats as if placed a few inches too far to the left, pounding against my rib-cage as a constant reminder of the sea of liquid that rushes through my body with each pump and ***** the size of my fist that sits like a ticking bomb.

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My True LoveWhere your eyes view comfort, my eyes shy away in fear. Those fingertips you wish to lace with yours, as you lay dreaming on your aged duvet, are the embodiment of an age-old prison. Those fingers lacing mine like thick nylon rope laced through fingertips and wrists. Soft voice infused with poison constricting my body with the force of two angered hands closing around my neck. Harsh lips like fists against malleable skin, leaving ***** stains and marks of possession on a once-white canvas that has marred itself beyond recognition. Insincere words spilling from vacant hearts, swearing of a beauty neither can see, yet you consume the words like a holy salvation. What little comfort lies in a body created for the very intention of torture. / Come with me and seek comfort and love from the fabric from which we were created. The comfort of a universe that lies on your very fingertips. The particles in the center of my right thumb created in a deceased star whose light is just now visible to my eager eye, the atoms vibrating on my stark white scalp arriving on my body after travelling farther in the universe than any human eye has witnessed, the pounding molecules rushing through every inch of my body as a thick red liquid originating in the center of the universe (an unimaginably breath-taking home). These particles have touched surfaces the human mind has yet to dream of touching, yet they have chosen this surface- your body- to faithfully support before resuming their flurry of activity. A deeper love than that that can be provided by an insufficient human body.

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Word HuntingWords begin to form in my fragmented mind, swirl around the base of my neck, flutter across my bare skin, caress each curve, absorb the essence of my body and grow larger with each twist and turn. / They gather in groups and beautiful ensembles, singing glorious tunes. / They race towards my fingertips and my hand twitches in anticipation as I bolt to catch them.

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Wet paint. Do not touch.Do not touch. / Do *not* touch. / Do not dare spoil this flawless property, now reborn with a fresh coat of vibrant color. Do not let your fingers dance along the surface, smearing the paint and allowing the grimy former coat underneath to show. You are not a blessing to this structure, you are a curse. You will tear away the new skin, allowing the dark poisoned layer to dominate this body once again. This structure has not been waiting for you, it has been waiting for liberation from the skin that has confined it for so long. After so many years, it has been given the chance to remake itself, to be vibrant, to be free, to be loving, to be adequate, to be extraordinary. Do not ransack its new-found independence.

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To the trembling soldier,In between silken sheets, I am your weapon / to be molded against the horrors of time and society. / *Take me to your war.*

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Blank CanvasToo often careless words of love and assurance slip through lovers’ lips. / Trembling and flushed, able bodies twist to shield their scarred skin, / whispering over and over again,

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My Lover,Lay down, tear your chest cavity open / and lead my fingers to the burned edges of your body, / damaged by your malicious and poisonous thoughts.

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