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,
*******.

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 forgot,
if last night,
was actually tomorrow.
And whether or not,
if I’m dreaming,
or living,
a nightmare,
instead.
This is something,
I’d much rather,
**** it up,
and be a big girl.
But I’m crying,
in the corner,
like a baby,
instead.
I’m supposed,
to choke it down,
without tasting,
the poison.
But I’m,
throwing up,
while I gag,
and wishing,
it was someone else,
instead.
That isn’t fair,
but I guess,
I’ve become,
someone not me.
The cracked reflection,
of the broken mirror,
I stepped on,
while twirling,
instead.

Do you?
Now that,
is something,
I wonder.
It’s surely so,
that I know,
of it all,
truth be,
not told.
There are moments,
that it keeps,
me up,
unable to,
sleep.
I toss,
I turn,
I twirl,
and this tattered,
torn blanket,
gets more rips,
as I spin,
myself,
to dreams.

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.

You carry,
the same carmex,
for years.
There’s a ring,
in your pocket,
that isn’t,
for me.
Is that,
considered sad,
or is it,
just the way,
it is.
Maybe it’s,
just a little,
bittersweet,
in how,
it’s ironic.
I stumble,
I fall,
right into,
your hands.
But that’s,
just the way,
I am.

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.

I can be happy,
a beautiful sight,
in the sky.
In an instant,
I can be dark,
and pour,
like a thunderstorm,
one that makes you,
hide from,
my sight.
Then suddenly,
the skies are clear,
and I’m nowhere,
to be found.
Like a cloud,
I am needed,
but also,
not.
The background,
that sometimes,
blocks the shine,
you look,
for shapes in me,
but you’d much rather,
keep the sun,
in your eyes.
I am,
a cloud,
dull,
yet also,
full of depth,
but I do not,
last long.
Just a temporary,
beautiful sight,
that hides stars,
sunshine,
and the moon,
at night.

I like,
the lipstick,
that stains,
your cigarettes.
And how,
you carry,
the scent,
of lavender,
and incense.
The imprints,
of your teeth,
are left on,
my heart,
after you,
took a bite,
last night.
Did you,
keep it?
Or trash it,
like all,
the rest?

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 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.

I have no friends,
and my family,
they *******,
hate me.
I don’t know why,
I ****,
at least he thinks,
I’m lovely.
The world,
I feel like,
is against me,
it doesn’t even,
know me.
It keeps on,
spinning wildly,
I just,
get dizzy.
It really makes,
me sick,
I just want,
to quit.
I feel like,
I might *****,
as I stay inside,
this closet,
at least she thinks,
I’m lovely.
I don’t know,
who they are,
they really like,
my car.
Even though,
I *******,
wrecked it,
straight into,
their heart.
But hey,
at least they think,
I’m lovely.
My smile,
it’s kinda,
crooked.
A child’s drawing,
my right eye,
rounder than,
the other.
I’m slightly wonky,
my legs aren’t,
straight,
but at least,
I know,
I’m lovely.

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.

There’s this,
demon,
inside of,
me.
It plays,
a facade,
and looks,
just like,
me.
Whispers,
you are,
worthless,
not,
wanted,
so,
pathetic,
me.
I beg,
please,
stop,
just for a,
minute,
for,
me.
I laugh,
the demon,
frowns,
it’s obviously,
been a,
reflection,
just,
Me.

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.

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.

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 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?

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.

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.

Walking on walls,
dancing on the ceiling,
the room is spinning,
I’m going through,
the motions.
Playlist on shuffle,
but I don’t like this song,
or this one,
this one,
and that one too.
My tongue is twisted,
and my throat is choking,
I’m going through the motions,
I don’t wanna,
go through the motions.
I’m getting sick,
it just won’t stick,
I forgot the words,
someone hit reverse,
I don’t wanna,
go through the motions.
My mind is slipping,
my feet,
tripping,
I forgot how to,
go through the motions.
I overcompensate,
say things I shouldn’t say,
I shoot,
he scores,
I’m tired of going,
through the motions.
I jump head first,
hold my breath,
this is my chance,
I’m not going,
through the motions.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It was,
so much,
easier,
to tell you,
that you simply,
had the wrong number.
Than it would have,
been to say,
that it was,
still me.

Maybe,
you’re right,
I’m just,
a sad,
pathetic,
oh woe is me,
little thing.
My half sized,
brain,
could never,
begin to,
comprehend,
such a thing.
It must be,
the size,
no,
smaller,
than a pea.
Because you,
you are,
OBVIOUSLY,
right,
right?
I mean,
who else,
could be?
Surely,
no way,
in hell,
Me.

I misplaced myself,
just like,
my favorite,
pen.
The mirror,
it’s broken,
a lack,
of reflection.
I’m not,
too sure,
what happened,
but I lost,
phone signal,
and my steps,
I didn’t print,
a mapquest.
My glasses broke,
I thought,
I made it,
home,
I’ll stay in bed,
I promise.
That’s just,
a tree,
instead,
blurred from,
reality.
This isn’t fair,
I didn’t ask,
for this,
she did,
I’m not,
her,
she’s already,
dead.
The mirror,
it’s broken,
I’m here,
instead.
A game,
I forgot,
the rules,
to play.
I don’t think,
this is something,
you could,
possibly,
understand.
From a person,
who isn’t,
a person,
just a bunch,
of swirls,
and squiggles,
that forgot,
how to,
get home.

She bleeds,
the universe,
and cries,
shooting stars.
Like a princess,
out of her ballgown,
so out of,
place,
she lets freedom,
embrace.
With glitter,
in her hair,
she sparkles,
even at,
night.
I find myself,
finding pieces,
she left,
behind.
She ran,
so far,
she didn’t,
even think,
twice.
The palace just,
was never her,
place.

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 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.

When you,
feel alone,
and can’t,
seem,
to stay,
afloat.
Read me,
when you,
seem so,
down,
you can,
only,
go up.
Read me,
when you,
are unable,
to breathe,
the words,
seem lost,
in between,
your teeth.
Read me,
when you,
can’t seem,
to read,
and the words,
are just,
gibberish,
on the blinking,
screen.
Read me,
when you,
feel as if,
you need,
to be,
read.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

You can’t cry,
when you’re already,
beneath,
the surface.
For fear that,
you might drown,
your mouth stays shut,
there is no scream,
under the ocean.
It’s pointless,
worthless,
to let,
tears fall.
The water,
can’t taste,
more like,
the salt lines,
on your cheeks.
Is it empty,
to be so full,
you’re bursting,
at the seams?
Just a sunken,
ship,
at the,
bottom,
of the,
ocean.

Bathtub in the toaster,
I’m a little,
backwards,
but at least my,
cigarette’s lit.
Got high,
waisted bell bottoms,
denim jeans on,
broken converse,
I can’t afford,
my meds,
but I got,
the next round,
in my own,
head.
Yeah,
sure,
maybe it sounds,
a little bit sad,
but I’m just,
trying to buy,
a drink.

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 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.

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.

Last night,
I dreamt,
of your lips,
pressed gently,
against my,
pale neck.
My heart,
skips,
sputters,
to a pause.
I ponder,
if you too,
dream of sin.
The fog carries,
a lust,
I have only,
been forbid.

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.

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.

Time moves,
so slow.
Like a snail,
on the clock,
nailed to the,
wall.
The slime,
it seeps,
into the gears,
of it all.
Almost,
as if,
we go backwards,
as he inches,
along.

Is it,
so bad,
that I want,
to run,
head first,
into it all?
Is it,
so bad,
that instead,
of holding,
my breath,
I’d much rather,
drown?
Is it,
so bad?
Tell me,
is it so,
bad?
I just,
want to,
scream,
at the world,
instead of,
into my pillow.
Is that,
so bad?

Do you,
think of,
me,
the way,
I,
think of,
you?
Because,
truth is,
I,
really don’t.
When the news says,
someone’s dead,
I look for,
your name,
instead.
Is that,
bad?
Possibly,
just sad?
It probably is,
but truth is,
I don’t care.
The scars you left,
wont wither,
until you taste,
the poison you,
hypocritically,
made for me.
Do you,
think of,
me,
the way,
I,
think of,
you?
Probably,
not.