Gnashing teeth.
All too familiar.
Ache of muscles,
Too safe.
Run towards grief,
Like a cloak to be burrowed under.
When it gets too warm,
And no wind carries you asunder.
Beg for relief of tedious space.

Each a different sea,
a sea nonetheless.

The one on your side has a warm embrace.
Mine wraps me up in a cold breeze whispering defeat.

Your beach holds sand to ****** your feet into,
leaving a lasting impression of your skin against its grains.
Mine is a bed of rocks.
Which shoot up cold shivers against my spine that no longer tell lies.

Your bed is soft, lace-wrapped,
skin peaking through.
Mine are cold sheets,
tie me down against an empty mattress.

One solace is firewater that promises softer sleep,
a diluted reality,
and memories miles away.

Long fingers,
cold skin.
Daydreaming of sheathing your sword in my warm ribs.
Rough night, sweat drenched with teeth awaiting a taste.

Bubble-wrapped I wonder if there is a chance.
Tiptoe and steal one last piece of vivaciousness.
Breathe in, smell relief.

It seemed my mind would rather be preoccupied.

Crushed ice to cool off the burn on my tongue,
heady liqour to sooth the burn in my chest.
Tan lines to replace the once marked skin,
Velvet chokers to replace the pressure,
and new strumming to replace the wailing.

Summer dresses to cover my quivering,
along silver rings to cover the shaking.

Not so unexpectedly I glance a familiar countenance,
so I unravel and everything re-wires.
I'm fighting the studying of coincidences,
but the search is inevitable.

Old tears stain new sheets,
old methods replace new tricks,
and old memories replace new concerns.

Now it seems I haven't put you to bed.
Instead I lie in that bed wondering if you're the same.

Reduction can be degrading when I'm reduced to cigarettes and pills.
Because when I'm awake I can remember faces,
I can even remember each touch.
So I'm lost in a kaleidoscope made up of loathing, with parts remembered as pleasure.
Every time I reminisce about quivering lips, I'm reminded of blood-shot eyes.
I'm in between rebirth and death itself.
Running between fear and obsession.
It's been a long road, and each stop was a harsh lesson.
It might be pride but I keep reminding myself until my body is buzzing with life.
Masochistic tendencies, all a fear of control and decisiveness.
Keep playing games to pass the time, playing at feeling alive.
We only endorse a fantasy of indulgence and ego.
Who are we to keep lying to ourselves?
Saying we're alive and well when all we want to ask is what if it isn't?

You can sail the world in your plight,
but take a look around.
Here I am, standing at a crossroad.
My tresses blowing left, and right.

I can feel each cold breath slowly descending down my spine.
Along with it, words of righteousness.

A long and ever gazing tree, wise with the past and words of those who passed.
The trunk may be sturdy but the roots take hold in old soil.
The howling wind sends it shuddering, but my feet have learned to dance along to the tune.

Each cut, and each wound tell a story.
Maybe it's all too raw,
but I won't let any feet step all over their glory.

Like clay, I shape my psyche.
Molding my own version of reality.
Like holding on to a rocking boat,
each stalemate tries to topple me over.

As a spectator your eyes stare on,
but you are being fooled, and I can attest.
As I unfold, you can sense the plot change.
Don't look at me with unassuming eyes,
then play at holding on.

My existence is riddled with holes,
I chose to let them breathe.
Wishing only for the realization of my imperfections.
Not a mending of my shape.

I can sense you discard your own impurities,
and try to pick at mine.
A perfectionist's charade,
A naive acceptance.

We paint our intertwining stories,
and in turn forget the photographs of our reality.
A soulful mirage, all but false memories.

A warrior and a strong pillar of faith,
but your cause has left you blind.
I find you imprinting this impression on every moment you soak in.

My body is but a shell,
A porcelain covering of my own choosing.
On the inside the winds howl,
and I run free and wild.
Your upright silhouette may never sift into mine,
But don't blame my interchanging breeze.
As I have already drawn out the line.

I might miss the way your muscles flex under my touch, but I will always hold on to the bitterness you left on my tongue.
I recount all our memories to only remember the way I cherished your ferociousness.
My bones have become fragile, I need someone to pack me up and carry me slowly.
You never understood how you opened me up, I was always ready for you to pour yourself into me.
Instead you left a gnawing black hole between my shoulder blades.
Every puff of smoke is another sigh of despair leaving my body.
My chest shattered in your absence and I'm left searching for pieces of my heart in this mess.
Silence is solace, but all I want to do is scream till I can feel a burning in my lungs instead of the one in my chest.
Why did I let myself wade between thick marshes till your talons embedded themselves in my skin?
I wanted dark whispers and coquettish smirks, and all it got me was a mouthful I can't manage to chew.
My ego got the best of me once more, and I have lost all the pages imprinted with warnings I saved for a moment like this.
My mind sunk in defeat, while my body was left a shredded liability in your wake.
You used to ruffle me like a lazy breeze between my tresses, but now all you remind me of are stalemates I thought I had left behind.
I have lost my haven and you are the only comfort left to seek, a road I wished would have been left undiscovered.
I tried to rub off the scent of you from my body using an unfamiliar scent, but now I wreak of vengeance and it doesn't smell as sweet.
I am ashamed of all these tears, but the warmth keeps flowing between every crack.
You have unleashed a dam, and I'm left here stacking up pages of words dedicated to you in hope of stemming the flow.
I'm already counting down the days till I forget you, praying for the hours to go by faster.
Nevertheless I still foolishly wish for a last lifeline.
I want you to fight, fight for me and help mend the last stitches you left behind.

My heart is pounding fast, but it only seems like the pitter-patter of rain.
Ignore the howling wind, and my sweaty palms clutching the leather steering-wheel.
Road lights flicker in the morning smog and I can feel my mind suddenly shift.
Once a friend but now a foe, that unwelcomed buzz rears in its ugly head.
I almost reach the finish line, but instead I am hit with empty excuses in place of my prize.
The scene fizzles out and I'm left standing on an empty street, shaking. The car keys still in my sweaty grasp.
My hair was unraveling from my sad-excuse-of-a-bun, but I breathe and imagine the way your fingers will nuzzle the worry away from my tresses.
My shirt is askew and its laces untied, I take another breath and picture it peaking out beneath your haphazardly strewn jacket.
It doesn't even matter that I think my pants are horrible, because I know they belong in a heap next to those hideous canvas shoes of yours.
I get in my car and ignore my aching back that hesitates against the uncomfortable seat.
I'm willing to shake hands with oversight, and declare compromise a friend.
It's because your bitterness is only outweighed by the sweetness of the nicks your teeth leave on my shoulder.
Your hesitancy is washed away by the method your eyes fix on our bare reflection.
The loneliness of your silence is snuffed out by the heat of your callouses pressed against my ribs.
I can keep counting and recounting each touch, hiss, sigh, bruise and smile.
The way your arms encircled me before I hesitantly left the sanctuary where you wrecked me all those nights, it numbs the distance I'm left with.
It leaves me terrified of its absence; and the inevitable soreness your memories will leave behind.