Hi,
nice to,
meet you.
I’m the,
disappointment,
your mother,
told you,
not,
to take,
in bed.
Instead,
you took,
a leapt,
and asked,
my hand,
to wed.
Do I,
say yes?
Or maybe,
*****,
on your,
clothes.
My favorite,
flowers,
are daffodils,
and daisies,
but they’re wilted,
and have lost,
their charm.
That should’ve,
been me,
instead.

I can,
call you,
the sun,
in the way,
it sets,
and turns,
the sky,
into night.
Yet you,
are also,
the sun,
in the way,
it rises,
and brings,
the day,
into light.
My cup of,
sunshine,
and sip,
of stars,
how you taste,
that of rain,
and take away,
all my pain.
My starshine,
just a touch,
of nature’s,
melody,
and a whiff,
of morningdew.

A bright,
ray of,
sunshine.
Here to,
burn your,
face.
I leave,
your skin,
red,
and shoulders,
scabbed.
Even through,
clouds,
I penetrate,
your clothes.
Temperatures high,
celsius soaring,
you peel,
me off,
weeks later.
But I’m,
right around,
the corner.
A delightful,
ray of,
sunshine,
here to,
burn your,
*******,
face.

Love is pointless,
worthless,
and cheap.
Three words,
uttered,
purchased too easily.
It's exhausting,
dangerous,
and empty.
Love hurts,
painful,
basically scalding.
It's fire,
passionate,
put out with a simple breeze.

I hope,
you’re dead,
with little,
tiny maggots,
swimming,
in your,
head.
That’d be too,
easy,
like a fish,
off the hook.
I want you,
to be,
the worm,
wriggling,
for a sense of,
free.
I will,
dig you from,
the dirt,
you call,
home,
squish you,
under my,
converse.

Some say,
the glass,
is half empty,
Some say,
the glass,
is half full,
I just say,
it’s broken.
Not expecting,
anything at all.
And isn’t that easy?
There’s no line,
on that imaginary glass,
waiting to be filled,
or emptied.
It’s just,
broken.
No expectations,
at all,
not waiting,
for a,
**** thing.
A broken thing,
can’t be filled,
no matter how hard,
you try,
it just makes,
a mess,
all over.
Almost like,
the thoughts,
in your,
mind.
Just make sure,
it’s not,
made of,
glass.

Once upon a time,
there was a rose,
that grew,
on the moon.
One morning,
it was dawn break,
and it was in bloom.
The petals had uncurled,
an aromatic scent lingered out,
and for some reason,
one curious little mind,
woke up much too early,
to find this scent,
in their nose.
Only to find the moon,
in the sky,
bright and full,
and a rose scent,
all around.
Cocking their head,
they just knew,
that this didn’t make sense!
It was morning,
not night,
and why,
oh why,
would the moon,
smell of a bouquet,
of roses,
and not a handful,
of stardust?
This mystery,
must be solved,
they pondered,
but how?
A ladder maybe?
One really, really tall?
Made of twigs,
and branches,
tied together,
hastily?
No,
that’s silly,
it’s just the,
moon.
There can’t be,
a rose,
on there,
but they smell it.
Maybe if they wait,
and stay up,
just a little bit,
too late.
Do you think,
the moon,
might be in,
a lake?
Get a boat,
a couple of paddles,
and you’ll get a whiff of it,
I promise.

Once,
I fell in love,
with a ghost,
which wasn't,
as much,
a mistake,
as it was,
a mystery.
She promised,
she would,
always,
be there,
but by habit,
she faded away,
gradually.
As I screamed,
begged,
pleaded.
I couldn't,
grab her hand,
it wasn't really,
ever there.
That was when,
I fell in love,
with a ghost,
but she didn't,
fall for me.

Her skin tastes,
that of stars,
and her hair,
has the scent,
of lilacs,
and driftwood,
tainted by,
morningdew.
I can’t help,
but stop,
and stare for,
just a few.

The eyes,
window,
to the soul.
Unfortunately,
yours,
are closed.
I peek,
I pry,
trying to,
catch a glimpse,
of what,
makes you,
glow.
Will you,
push back,
the curtains,
and crack,
the blinds?
Open,
the door,
to the beat,
of your heart.
I long,
to hear,
the sound,
of your,
world.

I like,
to spread,
myself,
so thin,
that you can,
almost,
see through,
my skin.
I have become,
crumbles,
at the bottom,
of a,
chip bag.
Basically trash,
not even,
worth,
a taste.
Am I really,
such a,
waste,
of space?
You told me,
I’m just a,
to be,
continued,
sitcom,
never to be,
resumed.
Is it,
really,
true?

My closet,
at one point,
was filled,
with,
band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live.
My bedroom floor,
it was littered,
with mismatched socks,
skinny jeans,
converse,
some to my knees,
and combat boots,
even though,
granddaddy was in the navy,
and visited Nagasaki.
Now I’m a hippie,
that subconsciously,
does the hair flip,
and people,
well,
they think,
I have a twitch.
Still own converse,
but I just don’t know,
how to let go,
of my past,
to tell the truth.
At least now,
I’m the reason,
to live.
My closet,
is spacious,
and it doesn’t,
have a door.
But it’s still full,
of band tshirts,
skeletons,
and the reason,
to live?
I’m on the run.

Springtime flowers,
don’t grow,
in this garden.
Not in this mess,
I must confess,
buried it deep,
inside a chest.
It’s gone now,
only haunts me,
when I sleep.
My heart aches,
such a mess,
I must confess,
it’s just,
my chest.

Hello again,
it’s been too long.
I apologize,
you see,
somehow I lost,
not just my words,
but also my pen.
Maybe you can,
begin to understand.
Love,
Me.

I watched the moon,
last night,
it danced through,
the tree limbs,
onto my,
bare skin.
I pondered,
if maybe,
you too held,
ballets,
across your chest.

I like,
the way,
your eyes,
sparkle,
and I,
hang off,
the glitter,
in your words,
that you whisper,
in the air.
Is it the,
symmetry,
maybe the,
calamity?
But I could,
slide off,
commas,
dance under,
apostrophes,
and that’s just,
the beginning.
I’m starting,
to wonder,
if the dots,
to the I’s,
are just,
question marks,
to answers,
I may never,
have.
Can you blow,
smoke rings,
like sentences,
and put me,
together,
somehow?

She’s a sun dancer,
she smiles softly,
and breathes kisses,
onto the nape,
of your neck.
She lights cigarettes,
with the heat,
from her,
chest.
Is it sin,
forbidden,
to take a taste,
of the flavors,
she mixed?
Fingertips,
glide hesitantly,
among her,
hips.
Lustful marks,
left behind,
bruised fingerprints,
the curves,
of crooked,
teeth,
and my own,
dreams.
I don’t know her,
but I inhale,
and huff,
her in.

I know,
it’s been,
some time.
I just wanted,
to write,
to see how,
you’ve been.
How’s the weather,
is the sun,
shining,
and the moon,
glowing?
Have you become,
the star,
you always,
hoped for?
Maybe you,
finally learned,
how to keep,
afloat,
and your head,
out of the clouds.
I hope this letter,
finds you well,
and maybe someday,
you’ll find,
your own way,
home.
Love,
Me.

I think,
I feel,
sick.
Absolutely,
most definitely,
overly,
nauseous.
I’m going to,
*****,
right in,
my bare,
hands.
The words,
they spill,
all wrong,
staining,
the carpet,
and my own,
white shirt.
It’s obvious,
I’m such,
a mess.

Lips pursed,
blowing bubbles,
and placing kisses,
on the back of,
wrists,
that lay there,
bleeding.
A sick,
smile,
a smirking,
child,
breathes hot air,
against fogged windows,
drawing pictures,
of ******,
figures.
The world is all,
consuming,
trapping me behind,
bars,
bullet proof glass rooms,
it keeps me,
spinning.
I am twisting,
turning,
my stomach,
it keeps it churning,
dizzying,
I am losing,
no I’m,
winning.
Drink the liquor,
it drowns out,
the sound,
and keeps,
us swimming.
Nicotine laced,
smoking kisses,
it helps you,
pull the trigger.

Light a cigarette,
and it,
fills your consciousness.
It drowns your mind,
it pools into your lungs,
it teaches you how to live it,
poisons your brain.
Can you remember,
how to breathe,
take one in,
scream it out,
pull the trigger,
and blow your mind.
Stop and think,
for just a minute,
nicotine laced smoke kisses,
to clear the head.
Pop a percocet,
choke on the curses,
bite the hand,
that fed your ***** mouth,
you sick child,
don’t you listen?
Light a cigarette,
stop and breathe,
for just a,
minute.

I take,
scissors,
to my,
tongue.
Only then,
I won’t,
have to,
listen,
to myself,
drone.
I’ll snap,
my fingers,
at the knuckles,
puncture,
eardrums,
still,
I won’t,
shut up.

I am unable to be happy,
that is my conclusion,
a self-diagnosis.
I simply just,
cannot be satisfied,
it's just that,
honestly.
I sit there,
and stare,
dumbfounded,
I don't know,
I don't care.
Bottom lip sticking out,
legs crossed,
arms folded,
tapping the mole,
on my left bicep.
It's not my fault,
really,
I'm frustrated,
it isn't fair.
I don’t care,
I don't know,
how to be happy,
that is my conclusion,
a self-diagnosis.

You told me,
don’t let go,
even when,
you’re dead.
Then you,
unlocked,
our fingers,
like taking,
one last breath.
You’re not dead,
just a reflection,
in a smudged mirror,
cracked far beyond,
repair.
I won’t let go,
but not because,
you told me so.
I’ll turn my,
back to the,
past.
In the sky,
look for me,
this time.
I’m the one,
holding on,
to the clouds.

This year,
I want to,
live.
I’ll fly,
on onyx wings,
made of butterflies,
and broken,
tree limbs.
This year,
I crave to,
grow.
I’ll plant,
my own seeds,
and water,
roots,
that I’m sure,
will reach.
This year,
I’m going to,
jump.
I’ll hold,
my breath,
and know,
that yes,
I’m learning,
once again,
I can,
breathe.
This year,
I’m going to,
live,
I will fly,
jump right in,
into water,
that will grow,
my garden,
holding my breath,
I will swim,
to the surface,
breathing.

I always,
appreciate,
the plants,
that bloom,
when they’re,
not supposed to.
Because against,
all odds,
they grew,
into something,
brand new.

There's a girl in the glass box,
poor little bird can't fly.
Her wings have been snipped,
bound in ribbon,
made of knives.
Girl in the glass box,
what are you doing in there?
I can see you screaming,
why can't I hear a sound?
Please, shattered doll,
don't you cry,
you're out of time.
Girl in the glass box,
who are you?
With your brown hair,
made of curls,
won't you please tell me?
Poor broken doll,
with her bruised,
bleeding porcelain skin.
Girl in the glass box,
will you let me in?

I used to,
beg to be,
different.
Longed for,
oddity,
uniqueness.
Now I’m craving,
normality,
familiar,
experiences.
God is mocking me,
finally granting,
my wishes.
While also,
divulging in my,
desires.
It’s not,
fair,
I no longer,
yearn to,
disappear.
But there seems,
to be a,
delay in,
messages.
I prayed,
at the wrong,
time,
and now,
I’ve forgotten,
how to say,
amen.
Can someone,
pay the toll,
I’m losing,
my way,
home.

Up and down,
like a red rubber,
ball.
Yes,
you stick,
like a fly,
on the wall.
You buzz,
my ears,
and land,
on my nose.
I swat,
I zap,
but your,
persistence,
pays off.

Please,
I beg of,
thee,
bury,
me.
No,
a snorkel,
isn’t,
necessary,
I do not,
require,
to breathe,
and I forgot,
how to swim.
Bring tools,
to dig,
a hole,
deep.
****,
I broke,
a nail,
attempting,
free.
Worthless,
please,
push dirt,
over my head,
I’d much rather,
be dead.
Grant my wish,
desperately,
I’ve been,
good,
promisingly,
let me,
leave.

She bleeds,
the universe,
and dances,
on stars.
Has the scent,
of flowers,
and personality,
like that of a,
thunderstorm.
Her voice,
sounds like,
a song,
you’ve never,
heard before.
Wearing nothing,
but the lipstick,
she doesn’t,
own,
and a smile,
with curls.

I feel,
worthless,
broken,
and shattered.
My reflection,
it's blurry,
and warped,
beyond recognition.
My mouth,
tastes of,
blood,
teeth stained,
with red.
I'm a,
lost cause,
no one,
to grab,
my hand.
A joke,
made to be,
sneered at.
Like a ball-jointed,
doll,
made for,
entertainment,
and occasional,
pleasure.

I could,
send this letter,
but you’d never read it.
Instead,
I will write it,
and sweep it,
beneath the carpet.
Maybe you know,
possibly you don’t,
I could never tell,
even if I wanted.
Why is life,
so unfair,
leaving bitterness,
on my tongue?
I desire,
to know,
the answer.
Love,
Me.

I found myself,
drowning,
unable,
to reach,
the surface.
Not quite,
dead,
yet unable,
to be called,
living.
My lungs fill,
to the brim,
as if I’m the,
sunkissed pitcher,
with sour lemonade,
inside of it.
I can’t breathe,
I’m pursed lipped,
wont accept it,
it is not,
my decision.
My cheeks,
warm yet,
wet.
Salty,
unlike,
my lungs.
It’s not,
fair,
but I’m not,
a child,
anymore.
Throwing,
tantrums,
until you give,
and I get,
my way.

The moon,
she lies.
Claims to be,
made of,
cheese.
But does not,
pair well,
with wine.

Don’t drown,
Mr. Fish,
he forgot,
how to hold,
his breath.
Glub glub,
he says.
His fins,
don’t work,
Mr. Fish,
can’t you,
swim?
The water is,
too deep,
in his bowl.
Don’t drown,
Mr. Fish.

You say,
you’re like,
a bottle.
Filling it,
with emotions,
until it cracks,
and breaks.
I am,
no chance,
in hell,
a bottle.
More like,
a jar,
shoved to,
the brim,
haphazardly.
I may not,
be as fragile,
definitely,
not as,
pretty.
Under pressure,
I may just,
burst,
into pieces.
In the end,
I’ll just leave you,
covered in,
scratches.

I’m made of,
blue skies,
sunshine,
fluffy clouds,
and rainbows.
Yet I tend to rain,
and have clouded eyes,
my touch can be lightening.
How am I,
even nearly enough,
to be able to breathe?
I fear that,
you hate me,
the rest of the sky,
just tolerates.
I’m filled,
to the brim,
with insecurity,
and unnecessary,
anxiety.
A storm,
of emotions,
and uncertainty.

I watch you sleep,
as the sun wakes up.
You slumber,
as songbirds,
chirp themselves,
awake.
Is it odd,
if I count,
the eyelashes,
that fall on your cheek?
Wishful thinking,
for time to pause,
even just for a moment.
Love,
Me.

I went to,
a world made,
of water.
To your average,
everyday human being,
it would have been,
a natural disaster.
But you didn’t,
even have to,
swim,
with the water,
in the houses,
you just lived.
And your feet,
they never,
got wet.

This love,
melts,
like hard candy,
on the pavement,
in warm sunshine.
And would you,
call it,
sin,
if I watch,
you slumber,
as the morning,
rolls in?
Holding my,
breath,
your scent,
makes me,
spin.
Intoxicated,
only in,
your,
presence.
You are,
sour,
yet,
too sweet,
leaving,
heat,
dancing among,
my tastebuds.
I could,
swallow,
someone,
like you,
whole.
Instead,
I’ll let,
you linger,
a little,
while,
longer.

She used to be,
a fairy,
translucent wings,
dances with bees.
Befriending hummingbirds,
and taking sips,
from morningdew.
Fluttering,
twirling,
in the breeze,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.
Her giggles,
made flowers,
bloom,
like fields.
She had,
tea parties,
with mice,
she used,
to be,
a fairy.

I,
am a demon.
I whisper,
my words,
they wrap,
themselves,
around,
your head,
and penetrate,
your ears.
They swim,
down your neck,
unable,
to escape,
out your mouth.
As they reach,
your heart,
they tighten,
they squeeze,
until color drained,
and left white,
empty.
I,
am a demon,
and you,
give me power.

Maybe it’s the,
blue skies,
green fields,
or the dirt roads.
It could be,
white clouds,
cool breezes,
or the smell of,
s’mores over a bonfire.
More than likely,
it’s the music,
playing on the radio,
making me fall,
more in love with you.

I keep her,
in a jar,
tight lipped,
and sealed,
with holes,
big enough,
for air.
She screams,
muffled,
by her own,
containment.
If she,
cries,
she might,
drown,
in her own,
confinement.
No one,
is aware,
of my little,
experiment.
It hurts,
me,
more than,
her,
to witness,
entrapment.
My heart,
shatters,
at the,
predicament.
But I can’t,
speak,
I lost,
the words,
and the pen,
to write them.

I always loved,
the way,
raindrops,
seemed to hold,
fervent races,
on windows,
of buildings,
or vehicles,
and I watch them,
even now,
with such,
concentration,
like a child,
to see who wins,
and loses.

My heart,
it’s broken.
I feel as though,
all the wind,
has been blown,
out of me.
Becoming empty,
and withered,
into nothing.
Won’t you,
breathe into,
me?
Please,
lend me some,
of your air.
Inflate me,
like a balloon,
and watch me float,
away.

The feeling,
of uneasiness,
down deep,
in the pit,
of my stomach.
Like I ate,
one too many,
raw fish.
I can feel,
them swimming,
their way out,
of unsatisfied,
hunger.

Hey,
I know,
it’s been,
quite some,
time.
The thing that,
seems to last,
forever,
but we don’t,
have enough,
of.
Do you,
remember,
when we,
used to dream,
of the future,
that’s become,
the present?
It may not,
be exactly,
what we,
dreamt of,
but the clouds,
still make,
shapes.
Love always,
Me.