Astrid Ember

Jan 2015

----

2:22 am

sometimes i feel as though
my mind was set
to self destruct,
and i just cant seem
to find the switch
to make it stop.
maybe that's because
it's buried beneath
the very thoughts
that set it off.

Jan 2015

A

Smoke

4 october 2015*

Inhale.
I hold the smoke in my lungs.
One. Two. Three. Just as you taught me.
To think;
I’ve never even thought about a cigarette
untill I met you.
The januari night is piercing cold,
my hands tremble as I bury my head in them.
The moon turns my pale skin blue.
Exhale.

Listen,
I am not crazy,
though two strangers are not meant
to yearn like we do.
I do.

Listen,
maybe I am crazy,
though I have never been before,
not;
untill I met you.

Inhale.
I know you are drunk right now,
or leaned over a toilet lid
with rolled up money between your fingers.
So I am not in my bed,
but here,
with a cigarette between mine.
Exhale.

Astrid Ember Jan 2015

In the Shape of a Mouse

You have grown
from the shape of
a mouse you once
were.
No I take that
back.
You were a shadow
puppet of an ant
compared to what you
now are.
And you were still
strong.
Grown into a tigress,
grown into a
mountain lion
grown into
a goddess.
You are a mountain
compared to the dirt
pile you once were.
You tower over me
as the ocean of
my self pity has eroded
me.
I am sorry I have wilted.

I am sorry I
no longer feel
as if lightning runs
through my veins.
I am sorry I have
become a ******.
I am sorry I can't
face the memory of
the past 8 months
of an abusive relationship.
I'm sorry I allowed
him to make my body
his without my permission
and **** my mind
of the beautiful fields
it once held.
I'm sorry my
mind is polluted with
alcohol and smoke.
I'm sorry I am
rotting.

but, Jesus I am not
sorry you tower above me.
You have been rusted,
dipped in acid,
drowned
in all 7 seas
melted in
80,000 lava pits.
And you still tower
50 stories above me.

I am not
sorry that
I have lived.

I have seasons
tattooed into my skin.
I do not regret
losing the innocence
that made me glow.
But I am glad that
in the absence of my
light you have
become the sun.

And oh God. I wouldn't
mind going blind
starring up at you.

Ella Bella. /.\

Astrid Ember Jan 2015

Don't tell me I don't care

Don’t tell me that I don’t
care
because you weren’t
there.
You weren’t there for my
sleepless nights.
You weren’t there when
my showers turned pink.
You weren’t there when
I sobbed in the kitchen
writing really ******* sad
poetry.
You weren’t there when
I couldn’t breathe because
your name was stuck in
my throat and shattered in
my teeth.
No…
You weren’t there for the
empty embraces I felt
sick for committing.
The empty words
I had to spit out of my mouth
along with ****** teeth.
No…
You weren’t there
for when I cried
myself to sleep
when “I’m sorry”
was all I could mutter.
And your name went
along with it perfectly.
I’m sorry.
You weren’t there
when all my fingers
could do was scroll through
my newsfeed looking for you.
You weren’t there when
all my hands could do
was hold my head as I
was sobbing
when all my hands could
do was curl up into fists
and hit the wall
when all my vocal chords
could do was scream
"I’m sorry!"
You weren't there.

You don’t have enough
evidence to convict
me of not caring.

Astrid Ember Jan 2015

Memory

You remind me of
slow burning cigarettes
and long lasting fires.
You remind me of beer
and behind
the library.
You remind me of
simpler times.
When all I had
to worry about was
if this beer was
a twist-top or not.
And if my hair looked fine.
But now... I have
to worry about if I've
lost you forever.
If you'll ever come back
and listen to my pathetic
apologies.
you remind me of
addicting love.
They're going to have
to put me in rehab
and peel every memory
of you off of my skin.
Because I keep imagining your
hand there again.
Because every time I put
a cigarette to my lips
I imagine your soft
skin, and not some orange
filter.
Everytime I put a pipe
up to my face I
imagine it's your lips
I'm kissing.
And not just some
smoke filled with THC
That'll only make me
miss you more.

And Everytime I put
a beer up to my
mouth.
I'm not tasting
the bitterness.
I'm tasting
the memory of you.

Robert. ugh.