Like a moth,
to a flame,
you draw me in,
or is it,
insane?
I burnt,
my wings,
getting too close,
to you.
Scalding myself,
from the heat,
of your chest,
I ignite within,
a new addiction,
I inhale,
and huff,
you in.
Tasting that of,
cinnamon,
and cherries,
with a knotted stem.
You grow lavender,
in the pocket,
of your,
jeans.
I doze,
into enchanted,
dreams.

I spit my tongue,
right out,
on the cold tile floor,
I couldn’t taste it.
You stared at me,
and it,
me,
it,
horrified,
practically disgusted.
“I thought,
that was gum,”
you said,
bewildered,
basically out of breath.
I would have answered,
but shrugged instead.

As you start to get,
older,
and things seem to get,
simpler.
You begin to respect,
even admire,
the little things.
Like the sound of,
songbirds,
through an open,
window.
Rainstorms going pitter,
patter,
on metal pots,
and pans.
An old truck,
being brought to life,
on a cold,
Sunday morning.
They become,
magical,
in a sense,
that they bring you,
a feeling of,
fullness,
in the pit,
of your chest.

Do you think,
you could hear me?
If only,
I screamed just,
a tiny bit,
louder.
Muffled under this,
pillow,
of solitary,
confinement.
I’m simply,
suffocating,
in this room,
muddled in,
silence.
Am I allowed,
to run?
Escape this,
nightmare,
of breathless,
disenchantments?
I’ll scream just,
a tiny bit,
louder.

She’s made of,
stardust,
and dances,
on the surface,
of the,
moon.
She breathes,
the scent,
of roses,
with a hint,
of cigarettes,
and black cherry,
incense.
She intoxicates,
the room,
with her,
presence,
as she twirls,
and spins,
the world,
does too.

I’m,
choking,
there’s,
something,
stuck,
in my,
throat.
Most,
likely,
my own,
heart,
hollowed,
is attempting,
an,
escape.
Like a,
sponge,
it soaks,
up all,
damage,
begins to,
crumble.
I breathe,
through,
holes left,
behind,
a past,
rescue,
mission.
A,
lost,
cause.
I just,
want,
to,
breathe,
again.

I don’t want,
to be,
your princess.
I want to be,
the girl,
from the,
movies.
The one,
that gets,
chased after,
even when,
it’s her fault.
Even when,
it’s raining,
and life,
doesn’t make,
any sort of,
sense.
I want to be,
that girl.
The one,
that messes up,
sometimes,
but still gets,
three out of five stars,
and you at,
the end.

It’s the smell of cigarettes,
too early in the morning.
When you choke on your own spit,
and snort while you laugh.
It’s the carbonated drink,
in the old pillsbury dough boy cup.
The way the sun shines,
between white curtains,
that are almost translucent.
It’s saying the word,
“****!”,
when your lighter doesn’t work.
It’s the red carpet on the stairs,
and the way they creak,
when you haven’t quite mastered them.
It’s making mud pies,
in the puddle of your driveway,
every time it pours.
When you hit the wrong light switch,
though it’s been more than a few years
It’s the sound of the breaks,
when the bus stops in the morning,
and you can barely roll out of bed.
The sweet smell of dandelions,
before your dad mows them.
It’s dyeing your hair,
and staining your friend’s bathroom sink.
It’s losing your bra in a glovebox,
and never finding it again.
It’s learning how to live,
before you lose your chance.

I hope,
I never cross,
your mind.
Just forget me,
block off the path,
worn into,
the mentality,
of your brain.
Let me fade,
like the bitter taste,
of sugarless,
lemonade.
Breath easy,
knowing I’m okay,
without your presence,
on a short lived leash.

She smells sweet,
like roses,
laced with,
cigarette smoke.
Lips soft,
like petals,
and a lingering,
taste of tobacco.
Eyes so blue,
like the sky,
but more at night.
Like her hair,
seemingly darker,
than a cat,
on the same path.
She breathes,
poison into,
my lungs,
I inhale,
and huff,
her in.

I got,
abducted,
by aliens,
last night.
I wasn't,
exactly,
their type.
They tossed,
me back,
like a fish,
in the ocean,
tried to catch,
another.

I’m considered,
a dog,
chasing its,
own tail,
dim-witted,
unappreciated,
of its,
own efforts.
Probably because,
it’s going up,
an escalator,
going down,
you may,
never make it.
But for some reason,
I’m pushing on,
climbing these stairs,
that seem to be,
working full force,
against me,
but ****,
I’m going to,
make it.

There is no point,
in rain,
on a winter morning.
It melts,
the beauty,
in the snow,
and makes,
your eyeliner run.
Freezing over,
roads,
causing you to slip,
and break a nail.
But,
it makes,
cheeks redden,
with the cold.
It causes,
fingertips,
to search for yours,
retrieving their warmth.
I like witnessing,
our hot breath,
blending together.
That’s the point,
in rain,
on a cold winter,
morning.

How ridiculous,
to feel,
out of breath.
When you’re,
barely breathing,
to begin with.
Your mouth,
tastes of metal,
because you were,
stupid.
Bit down,
on your tongue,
too hard.
Who am I,
you ask?
You’re looking,
in a mirror,
*******.

Drowning,
in an empty,
man-made lake.
Choking,
on an object,
never meant,
to be swallowed.
Dancing,
with broken ankles,
tears fall,
I am constructed,
to be beautiful.
Breathing,
with lungs deflated,
like dull,
birthday balloons.
Yet you,
expect me,
to be,
cheerful?
That is nothing,
but another,
hallucination.

I guess,
I’m the bad guy.
Although,
I’m not,
entirely sure,
what I did wrong,
this time.
I’m being,
chastised,
like a child,
who did naughty.
I stare,
at the ground,
twiddle my thumbs,
and bite my tongue.
I’m sorry,
truly,
I apologize,
forgive me.
Is it okay,
are things alright?
Maybe,
it’s just me,
I’m the bad guy,
again this time.

I held,
my breath,
a little too long.
Cheeks turned blue,
as I started,
to float away.
The world,
faded gradually,
beneath my feet.
Was I,
dreaming?
Most likely,
just not,
breathing.

I meant to love you,
you insisted,
on running,
to her,
instead.
I meant to love you,
you called me,
boring,
not so,
intriguing,
and drove away,
in a cliché sunset.
I meant to love you,
you put me,
in time out,
like a child,
face the corner,
and said,
“Now,
think about,
all the things,
you never did.”
I meant to love you,
you kissed,
all the bruises away,
until they became,
bitter memories,
instead.

I saw the moon,
golden through the clouds.
Reminding me,
of the time I once loved you,
and you poisoned my soul.
You drained me dry,
as I appeared a fool.

The world,
is silent.
But I can hear,
the gears turning,
in your empty,
dull brain.
Is this,
that wake up call,
I was,
put on hold for?
The line,
it’s a dead,
rotary phone.
It turns more,
than you.

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.

I love the way,
she whispers,
how the,
moonbeams,
gleam softly,
on sultry skin.
Could you,
call it sin,
if I watch,
her slumber,
in the mornin’,
as the sun,
rolls in?

She wore sunglasses,
while driving in the rain,
she swore,
she said,
the world is just a little,
too bright today.
It may be,
cloudy outside,
but she can't handle,
the sunshine,
with those hazy eyes,
she promises,
she says,
everything is alright.
Maybe she's crazy,
a little bit not so sane,
she wore sunglasses,
while driving in the rain,
the sun won't,
bother her,
today.

I’m no good,
a rotten piece of flesh.
My nails,
laced with poison,
and I like to watch you choke.
I press hard,
until skin breaks,
making crimson beads,
down your neck.
You wither,
nonexistent,
and I sweep up leftovers,
under the carpet.

I want to live life in a mess,
with splashes in mud puddles,
and petals scattered down the aisle.
Let myself fall,
like rain after a dry spell.
And don’t you just love the smell,
of a summer storm rolling in?
How everything comes to life,
just simply after getting wet.
I yearn for simplicity,
mosquito bites,
and june bugs stuck in hair.
Fireflies caught in jars,
like holding lightning in your hands.
And maybe that’s the way love is,
or at least how it should be,
shocking,
but a way to find home

Do you ever feel,
that you’re going through life,
like a story in a book?
You keep turning the pages,
appearing to be empty,
they’re filled to the brim.
With not just words,
but wishes,
you just aren’t able,
to read them.

My depression is an ocean,
coming in waves,
sometimes typhoons.
Full of other things,
like ships,
and buoys,
I may crash into.
Which causes my heart,
to race,
to pulsate,
this is my anxiety.
I can’t take it,
I can hardly breathe,
I’m choking,
on seaweed.

I want to lose myself,
surround myself,
with this consuming,
darkness.
Getting smaller,
basically,
nonexistent.
I really don’t,
want to be,
me.
I’ve forgotten,
who,
I might be.

Why is it,
that I feel as if,
I’m drowning?
When I am,
in fact floating,
above my own head?
My lungs,
filling with cotton,
a soft,
yet abrasive,
sadness.
It holds me,
tightly squeezing,
comfort,
in depression.
I’m choking,
not on tears,
but sea water,
instead.

The surface,
of my heart,
has cracked.
Not quite broken,
not close enough,
to perfection.
An empty vessel,
to be filled to the brim,
with restitution.
This useless,
beating *****,
bleeds heavily,
of glowing liquid.
The evidence,
of my struggle,
it's the light,
in my tunnel vision,
of emotions.
I'm drowning,
while breathing,
free falling,
in an empty sky.