There she sits, with her back to the sun.
Her hair seems as black as the devils soul.
If he ever owned one, I’d imagine.
I wonder what she scribbles of today.

Memories, stupid ******* memories.
Boxes of them.
Labeled & neatly shoved to the ceiling.
I’m left with a storage unit receipt and an empty bed.    

Puzzling how one can seem so beautiful.
Yet so utterly disgusting inside.

What has our world failed to offer?
You seem to be breathing & writing this,
Aren’t you darling?

It’s ok to be sad.
It’s ok to feel pain, to be angered.
To be consumed by hate.
Drenched with rage and bitterness.
Doused with mania.

I hope it haunts you.
I hope you pay every-day.
With everyone.
With everything.
With every interaction.
I hope it hits you.
I hope it hits you when you’re starving.
I hope you feel sick.

You don’t deserve the substance that leaks from this pen.
But here it is.
So tell me.
Enlighten me.
How do you feel now?
Knowing that I no longer am capable of sleeping at night.
Congratulations.
Brooke Constantino

i sit unbothered
as my insides have become
artfully intertwined into knots
so much so my sweet dearest grand-mother could
crochet a winter quilt with these guts of mine

how i wish our public educational system
would have enlightened our youth

enlightened us

enlightened us, that there would be days such as this
brooke constantino

I hear nothing but black and flickers of dimed candles
Shadows and I waltz
For they do not judge me
Of course my demons’
How did I become this deranged
Nothing but black
This bed-linen now
A blushing civil war
It tickles me pink
Or maybe it
Helps me recognize
That my crazy is ******* gorgeous
Yet sickening
Are you happy?
Sun up till sun down
It’s cold now, and so am I
I see you every where
In every thing
In every one
In the tiny wrinkles that rest upon my Antarctic like hands
The car that cut me off this morning
The lumps stuck in my throat when someone asks how you are
The chilly 5 minute walk to my vehicle on the hill
In the empty space that haunts me every night when I close my eyes
It’s cold, but so are you
Am I that easy to escape ones memory?
Brooke Constantino