I have your heart in a vise and I'm tightening the screws
Watch me wring you for every bit of joy you thought you had
You are on my worktable and after I dry you to the bone, I'll go to work on you
I will whisper sweet nothings into your ear as I pull out your fingernails, one by one
Say my name, you will beg for me, I will give you nothing but agony, but you will still thirst.

Scarecrows dance in violet sun rays
in time best broken over my wrists

I steal magic from chalk bones on the sidewalk
and learn to read where children left their roots to become fossils

Clouds sinking into my skin as rainwater floods
my blood and turns my steady heart stream into livid rapids

Fate tapped on my window at 2a.m. last night
and informed me that I still am a poet and I still write to injure gods

Jealous frost infested the soil and trailed kisses of death on earth's cheek
but oh how pretty envy sparkles in hues of first light

But as I beckon stars to lean from their thrones in heaven,
I have realized that it's useless to continue watering a dead flower.

I will take my time as I unravel the binds
That you laced around your figure,
My fingers handling the intricate knots with care,
And I will be attentive to every truss,
Making sure I get each one undone.
Slowly, you will disentangle from the
Untidiness that restricts and I will witness
The birth of your galaxies as you finally
Take a step out of your restraints.
You are my work of art,
My beautiful silhouette of an angel that
Was trapped far too long by the weight
Of the world that you encompassed.
I knew all along what lay beneath the cocoon
That you sheltered yourself in and,
As you take your first step with no hindrances,
I watch as you blossom into radiant colors,
Abstract light that brightens your face
And reveals your true essence.
I know in that moment,
That you are the most stunning butterfly
I have ever come across and
Every knot untied
Was worth it.

I'm on the brink of 2 a.m.

It's a sticky-sweet July night,
and even though you're not here
I'm surrounded by you.

I had this dream we got lost in an arcade,
and decided to never leave.

I don't know what love is,
but I do know that your clothes
fit me better than my own.

I want to write about you...
but it's hard to fit the entire universe in a poem.

I can try,
we can try.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it