mark us
like sheep
my fleece may be
store-bought,
washed clean
of all
identity
but i’ve got
a patchwork neck
spotted and dotted
with broken
blood vessels and
i’ve seen the
girls with pennies
scraping at their
skin trying to
get rid of him
one stroke
at a time
(his lips were
just as rough
as the ridges
of their coins)
and
i’ve heard the
girls with pennies
their marks may
have faded
but their pockets
jingle with
each step they
take each move
they make they say
his tongue dripped
gold and
silver and
bronze all over
them but all he
left was
red

mark us
like cattle
my ears may
hold rings and
not tags
but i’ve got
skin so fair
you’d never
dare believe
that beneath
i’m just
another collection
of broken
blood vessels and
he may be
gone from the
surface
may be
easy to remove
but i still
bleed
(and the girls
with pennies
scrape at my
neck one
stroke at a
time)

mark me
like property
my body may
be a temple
but your
prayers will
not be
heard here
you say
the girls
don’t need
their pennies
we say you
have no say
in the way
we heal

our vessels
may have been
yours to break
but they are
not yours to
mend and you
can pretend
you never knew
what we went
through when
you decided
to leave
your signature
on our skin

but we promise
when we look at you
we only see
red

You only realize what you had until it's gone.
But I think... what is worse is the sound of their rejection like a knife in your jugular.
Remove the blade and watch yourself bleed out.
How are you supposed to remove a knife and feel nothing?
You ache and yet you let it happen because it is what they want.
I spent days denying the obvious.

I guess soft spots make for better bullet wounds.

It didn't take you long to pull the trigger.

And I feel as if
I want for nothing
And I lust for nobody
And I love nobody
An all this life
And this world
Is just in my head
And I can't grasp
Anything
I can't hold onto anything
How is this real?
How is her touch real?
I don't know,
But something is anchoring me.
But I know I wouldn't be afraid
To pull the trigger
If it was against my temple.
Only thing I would feel was regret,
And if I'm dying,
Who cares?

I am walking in fire instead if ice
I am willing to make a sacrifice
And with you, I'd risk my life
I'd pull the trigger if I can't  have you
After everything, I still want you 
We have something so special
It's so beautiful and fragile
You are my knight and shining armor

I've never really thought of,
Suicide as anything but poetic.
Your face being the last thing he saw,
As he dropped the photograph and loaded his gun.

But lately I've been thinking,
That perhaps that's not the way.
I always said when I die,
It'll be because I had a say.

Now I'm thinking,
I want it to be random.
A car crash or a bullet,
And not a word from your lips.

Lately I've been thinking,
That maybe a razor is not the way.
Maybe a gunshot,
Is too violent for me.

But what could be too violent,
For a man who loves words?
When I've read your little poems,
And known that Love is War.

Nothing could be more violent,
Than the way you held my hand.
While knowing I was nothing,
I just can't understand.

So I suppose my death will be random,
But why can't I have a say?
If when you die is predetermined,
Then why die in any other way?

It hurts your  feelings
so you hurt mine
i love you to death
thats why i'm ready to die
tomorrow is a never
today has gone by
goodbye my dear love
it was a fun ride

The plead of love
Forever stains my hands
The colour of your heart
Always to be seen
Your voice
Bouncing forever in my head
The light in your eyes
Shall rid my sleep for eternity
It was love I asked for
It was the kiss of your peace I craved
It was your touch of warmth I miss every day
I wished for your love
That's now spilt on the floor
Staining my hand's
Blinding my eye's...
I asked for silence of your touch
For my breath to be felt again
For my sight to again clear
For your mind to reverse back...
To the day we meet
To the day I knew
To the day I thought I truly loved you...
I'm sorry that I spilt your love on the floor
When it was mine you wanted spilt...