I remember you, so clearly,
Esteemed friend of mine,
you told me you’d never be
too far behind,
you told me to be myself,
I’d no longer have to lie.
For who’s a true friend
if one has to hide?

So I painted my nails
black,
And wrote poems about
death,
and you told me “no”,
you didn’t want me like that.

I wish when I wake up with a start
that this sadness will bleed
from the cracks in my heart,
that I won’t be a spectator
to my own ******* art,
that I won’t be a star
waiting for one little spark.

I wish when I awake from a self-induced sleep
that I’ll heal from the terrors
I made in the dark,
that I’ll steal from the pages
of my innermost thought

That I won’t live in the rubble
of a cold-blooded
heart.

My voice doesn’t reach you.

I hope one day when I collapse,
and spread out a million pieces
of life-burnt-ash,
that then, maybe then,
you’ll stop and
Reflect,
that I finally reached you,
that I finally reached you

After our time came to pass.

Stop trying to incinerate my heart.
Ashes can’t burn when they’ve already
become
Dust.
Ashes can’t evade when they’ve already
become
Rust.

Stop trying to incinerate my heart.

We are not afraid of the mirror,
We are afraid of the monster it shows.
We are afraid of porcelain skin
stained red,
afraid of never finding the bone,
afraid of never finding the very
core essence of our control.
I am afraid of being too much,
of not being enough,
of this skinny love
for a non-skinny reflection,
afraid of failing
if I am never able to see
my porcelain bones
imprinted on porcelain skin,
my very core
protruding from within.

I am my own control.
and one day,
I shall see it in the mirror,
even if I have to fall into it
and become the monster within.

I will always love you
in the way that the insomniac
dreams of sleep.

"We are all afraid,"
what a cliche.
I'm not scared,
The world molds me
I'm its clay.