The blade's edge, a younger ghost,
not life sought, nor a plea for most.
Not death's dark call, though lies might claim,
but love's few faces held a different flame.
Five souls tethered, a fragile thread,
for them, this burning building, I'd instead
stand, and let the slow char begin,
than leap to safety, and let their horror spin.
They see the hurt, but time, they say, will mend.
Yet roots of pain, where do they end?
If need itself, a human core,
becomes the wound that festers evermore?
Why does love, the lauded, wished-for prize,
so often end in tear-stained skies?
One lost to death, the other left to grieve,
a pain I recoil from, I can't believe.
So let me wound myself, they'll call it mad.
Perhaps it is, this path I've sadly had.
The truest gift, a love I'll never find,
no name to whisper, no touch to bind.
Did you see it then, this twisted grace?
Does love still wear the same familiar face?

Bile Addict
The truth comes out like stomach acid
burning the whole way up.
Needed and sometimes even wanted.
None the less still painful.
Still burning in your throat and in my ears.
A part of me feels like you hope this is my final straw and that I will finally throw in the towel.
A part of me was hoping that too, my Sweet.
Instead I take that straw to my nose
I use it to do a big ol line of the vile truth
while I push past the pain of the drip and the foul taste of your words
I try not to let you see the salty tears forming in my eyes.
I fold the towel you wish I would throw,
as perfect as I can
I walk to the closet that has the least amount of skeletons to put it away.
I don't have enough spine to declutter closets today.
Today Im no better than you.
I lie to myself and convince myself you could someday care, so that I can stomach
the urge I have to lie next to you.