How does it feel to be desired?
How does it feel to have your skin brush against mine?
How does it feel to finally give in?

Maybe our hands are tired of being pushed so far apart,
And our bodies deserve to finally interlock.

When I have you,
everything else falls into place.

Oh, I thought I’d have you close
Forever in my arms
A devil’s cheap disguise
To leave me alone at midnight.

How horrible it is
To sink into one’s fears
And let it eat you up
And drag out all the insides.

How does it feel
To run away?
How does it feel to never
See me once again?
Have you forgotten
My tastes?
How could you leave me?
After all that had been said?

Just run away
Take the breaths we shared
Just run away
Take away the loving stares
Just run away
And leave us here to rot.

Have you considered
All that you take
And have you wondered
What’s left of what I offered
And can you feel
The broken pieces
Trying to reconnect?

It seems too ill of you
To walk away again
When it’s so fresh and real
With every pulse and pang
And maybe you
Can’t seem to see
How much of this was worthy
Of existing.

But if you must
Then float away.

Oh, whispers in the wind,
I beg of you, please,
tell me of things
departed within
the crevices of my memories
before I lose
all semblance of self.

I wish to find some respite
In arms like yours,
though, safer,
much safer,
As it is much too likely if they were yours,
I would feel my breath leave
in sharp bellows of agony,
my lungs would decompress
into shriveled bags,
and I'd pray to forget you
all over again.

He had that sly smile
he liked to give,
almost as if to say,
"Darling, you knew
I had these demons.
Did you really think
I'd fight them all for you
and win?"

Ought I be so scared
of the monsters I fell in love with?

I should know by now
that a man with such an acquired taste
for knives and playthings
could tear me in half.

Their desires to be like me, of me,
torments me as much as the thought
of being like them;
and oh, how my false confidence
destroys me in the end,
pretending I could never fear them.

How quaint it is to exist
inside, between, such disfigured forms
of speech and image,
but must I tremble at their voice,
must I crumble at the feet
of something so deformed?

I know if I see him, see them,
I would much like to be afraid,
and every part of my bones
will collapse into flakes and shards,
only for me to later inhale
my brokenness, with disturbed breath,
and I will feel my eyes swell with lamenting salt,
sensing I'm letting my weakness show.

I've never wanted to run away
as much as I've wanted to run away from him,
from them,
from the absolute tormenting weight of them,
their brown eyes, their brown hair,
their terrible smiles,
they've always claimed to want me
and now I fear they might come
to take me, just like they always said they would.

I have never desired something more
Than to go back in time
To tell myself I love her.

Light me up
Burn my remains
Leave my memories to turn
To ash in the forest
Remind the others
To stay away.

Tell me, what's it like to recognize yourself?
Does it feel like you'd remember it?
Why not?

With all of the years blended together,
my reflection blurred across the spans of time,
stretching apart any resemblance of self.
My reflection is a black hole that ***** away any knowledge of who I am and regurgitates a flat, shiny depiction of someone else instead.

Lost in transit,
I thought I saw a ghost,
with whispy hair,
and a broken nose;
it looked damaged.

I wouldn't have guessed
that I knew who she was,
no, I wouldn't have known,
had it not been for her
single laugh
that let me know,
I was her,
and she was me,
and that she had detached
many years ago,
wandering the world
without us together,
or that she was so far
into her lightweight, empty form
that speaking words
would be untranslatable
and we could not communicate
to each other anymore.

I want the blistering hot, caked asphalt
to fry my heels as I run,
I want my skin to peel back
and for my bare feet
to form calluses in its place,
I want to run and to keep running
until my knees rust
and my lungs burst.

I want to collapse in the streets alone,
just so I know I can make it
that far.

I could look at you,
but never recognize your face
as it has become much too distorted
with malicious intentions
and sweaty, sleepless nights;
you are quite far gone,
and as I look at your indistinguishable face,
I'm not sure I'd ever remember
who you once were.

For the first time in ages
I said I wanted to die
And I didn’t mean it;
I said it again and, still,
I didn’t mean it.

For the first time in ages,
I could look at my hands
And know that they are mine,
That they are attached
Physically, mentally,
To my own body;
I no longer stare, shakily,
In the mirror
Up to my drifted eyes or chapped lips,
Oh no,
Instead, I see such a lovely warmth,
Something tangible
So when I move my limbs
I know I am here, alive, truly.

For the first time in three miserable,
Lengthy, troublesome, god forsaken years,
I am regaining, RECLAIMING, my existence.
That’s right,
No more empty minded drabble
Or loose whispers begging for help,
Some lost fingertips coated in frigid sorrows,
No,
Never again,
I’ve grown so sick of being sick,
So tired of being tired,
So frustrated with being frustrated;
That I am taking myself back.
I accept her with open arms,
Ones I can finally feel,
And God, did I miss her.

Go ahead and mourn all the things
that have, and can, and will be.
Lay flowers at the foot of the grave of borrowed time,
kiss the past her sweet goodbyes,
and rest assured the cycle always happens again;
another life gives time a new lover
who she'll take back someday.

I feel my energy sifting
out of my limbs and torso
like a broken hourglass
draining onto the floor,
and the grainy sections
and the grit sits in between my toes,
void of structure
as it collapses.

I don't want to patch up my cracks,
pick up the sand and glass,
or even take the time
to figure out what happened;
I've given up
and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

Let's have a quiet talk
Among our thoughts
In dreams spread far apart,
And come together
To see our distance
In simulations.

Your face is caked into impressions;
My nights had gone so long without
Sleep like this,
But if you are to litter my mind,
I can only ask for you
To let me do the same.

Sleep with images of me,
Burn them in your head,
Remind yourself how I looked
How I sound
How I feel;
Do not let your image torture me alone.

Have nightmares without me,
Find your soul shaken,
Your bones rattled,
Your skin cold and clammy;
Get uncomfortable with me,
For me,
Because of me.

This regret should linger and sour.

Every time I see you,
You should see me,
For every pang of guilt,
I hope you rot a little more,
I hope you never recover,
I hope you find discomfort in it all.

Meet me in the alleys of thought
Just so I may watch you suffer
Like I have.

Wake up in hopes you never have to sleep again.

Empty my mind,
My perception of time
Is skewed and I’ve lost myself
Somewhere
But I can’t see it
or feel it anymore,
My life shifts so slowly,
Or is it quickly?
From under my feet and
As the stars and planets
Rotate, I feel alone
Small
Fragile
And unnerved,
Please tell me where I am
And who I am meant to be
In this cavernous hole in reality.

Sometimes I think
I have forgotten
how malleable I can be
and how much I want
to mold my body,
like clay,
around you,
soft and vulnerable
pressed against
everything I once stood for;
why must I be so
alone?

Looking into myself,
I can't pinpoint that
crushing, confusing, messy
mixture of feelings I have for you.

I would have sworn a week ago
that I hate everything about you,
but now dreaming back
I remember how tender your love was.

I don't know why
you loved me like that
and no one else,
or why you tortured other souls
to have me,
or why maybe,
you destroyed yourself,
but I do know
that I can't rest
without understanding you.

I admit my heart had grown so fond
Of that soft, hesitant voice,
Those bulky hands,
Your gentle smiles;
I had melted into
every loving kiss upon my forehead,
And I hoped so longingly to keep you
Forever,
But alas, I must learn to cope
With letting go.

Help me
I am scared
Of the men in my closet
Their skeletons wound
Like a jack in the box
So when I look for something
And the door just nearly cracks
for those I’d almost forgotten
They all come crashing down
Suffocating me with their cold bones.

When I lie in bed
Dreaming of comfort
I am reminded
That you never were
And that’s okay.

I can recall now
That night we were cuddled up so near
And you asked me if I could remember
The night you first kissed me.

I sorrowfully replied I could only see haze
And that despite it all,
I still loved you;
My only reference
Was my old poetry,
Documenting much of my life for so long,
My sacred crutch,
The only description I could use
To pretend I still recollected.

I see through the splotchy memories
Much easier now than I used to,
But you had gone and soured every last one
As soon as I could finally remember.

What a dastardly fellow you are,
Stealing the memories I worked so hard to regain,
Soiling them with your presence;
I’m not sure being able to see them
Was ever worth it.

The same mouth that kisses,
Damns you,
The same arms you run to
Swing back,
And the ones you love the most
Will hurt you,
It's all a part of the plan.

How could I still want you
when I don't know the first thing
about
the pangs of hunger
or the mystic desire;
I'm not one for such carnal tastes.

I'll never feel the way you do.

I don't make art anymore.
It's so tedious and eats up a part of me
that I can barely hold up.

I'd rather just be a resting body,
but that route seems to cause just the same
discomfort.

Tired, irritable; I want to do as much
as I do not,
and I feel like all my time goes to waste.

My reflection isn't me;
I feel like I am five
years younger than I am.
My art is fueled by the discordance
which makes it so hard to make or write.

I fluctuate:
okay to awful,
to make to give up,
I'm me, who is she?
I don't make art anymore.