My mouth is burned
By the acidic tastes
Of the orange rinds
And mistakes
Of the toxic paste
Driveled from my head
And out my throat
With haste,
And yet,
I never let go
Of the next bite.

Remove all my senses
turn me a husk
leave all the remnants
into the dust
with the pebbles
before you
ask yourself this
was I all you wanted
or was there something else I missed?

This is a disaster;
My my, what a wreckage you make
Of everything and everyone you touch,
Leaving them gasping for closure,
Hoping someday the answers
Will fall from the sky, or
From your towering mouth
And slimy breath,
Then maybe the pieces you’ve tangled
Between us can be placed ever so precisely,
Floating from the air in your lungs,
Into something more concise.

Who are you
To leave this world so deflated and disillusioned?
Go ahead, learn nothing of your barbarism,
Soon you will collapse into obscurity
By your own feeble hands
And all that you alleged to stand for
Will bite you in the ***.

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.

Take me through the motions
one last time,
let me trail along
with my drifting eyes,
and let me hear those songs
I never could remember
or show me pictures of mountains
I would never climb,
let my feet shift slowly behind you,
tell me stories I've heard a million times,
and let me realize if I miss you or not.

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.

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?"

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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.