and here I found myself
in complete radio silence.
You're the soft humming static,
the deafening silence
as soon as I close my car door.
There's a certain kind of peace here,
though what I have is emptiness;
what I have is nothing.
You're the cigarette in my fingers at 3 am,
if only I hadn't quit.
You're the portrait that I'd create in awe,
if only I knew how to draw.
You're every song and piece of poetry
that these hands will ever compose for months,
and even years,
and by the stars, sweetie,
do I know how to write.

Sometimes
you
get used
too much,
and you
confuse bloodstains
for watermarks.
It’d be easier
to pretend like
nothing’s happening,
rather than admitting
that, deep down,
You were hurting.
And you were always hurting.
One minute
everything’s going fine
and the next
you’re breaking down;
tears flowing from your eyes
uncontrollable,
unbearable,
unyielding.
You
look me straight
in the eye,
and I knew
the words
even as
they caught in your lungs,
“Am I okay?”
I shook my head
and said not a word,
as you leaned in close.
In the silence,
I wondered:
Who was consoling whom?
If I close these eyes,
it would feel like
all of those other nights,
or perhaps,
this was still the same night.
And all the heartache,
and truth,
and yearning,
were seeking moonlight
once again.

-D.C.

She hides from her mother
ignores her dad,
she dwells within loss
and all things sad

her stomach's sick in the morning
she doesn't know why,
oh, she locks herself away
to break down and cry

heart jitters -
throat chokes in a lump -
every time her mind strays
to thoughts of her body's little flat bump

knowing what it might be
paranoid about how much it shows,
fooling herself no one will notice
even if it grows -

alas her head swells
sick with clotted disdain
no she can't carry on -
can't carry on with the pain

so up she opens to her parents
tears flowing from both eyes
unmasking the secret
that for months she's disguised

distraught, weeping,
the sordid act now told,
her mother heartbroken
her father disgusted but bold

"There's only one thing to do,"
he muttered with a voice that was hoarse
and down the ****** route of abortion
did they both start to course

her mother weak, pleading,
begging her daughter to think again -
her father furious, saying don't be so stupid
she's only the age of ten

and so Alice had enough
buckled and snapped,
her lust for life
sorrows parasite finally sapped

off the city bridge, into the icy water
did she jump and dive -

now encapsulated within the womb of death,
that keeps both mother and child alive.

Love is a ruthless game.
I dare you to play it.

Take a chance
Open up your soul to another person.
Give them a part of you.
They can hurt you, love you, break you.
They can leave you feeling alive
Or empty.

If you play it right, you will be rewarded.
But be warned: play it wrong, and you are asking for death.

It's unforgivingly dangerous.
You should play it though. There's a chance you'll like it.