Your scarred face
Written on it, the name of disgrace
I shed pink tears
Because the ink from your touch smeared
The blank paper I used to be
Now I can see
Inside your eyes lies a storm
Inside your eyes cries behold
Me, another dream

Tawny days hanging from the sweet autumn breeze are sheltered in corners of my mind I just can’t dare to go to. I hide from them, never closing my eyes—never looking inward. I open them into another haze, though. The dimmest streetlight in the most darksome alley. But between blinks, my eyes burn in golden, and images of remote places flicker in.

Patches of brown leaves on the ground, fragments of Shakespearean poetry carved on trees, a lonely grove between mountains, and a magic lake by my hiding place…

“You would never understand,” I had said to him after weeks of sleeping under willows and sneaking in the cottage through the window. “You don’t know what’s it like to be chased for crimes you didn’t do!” The soldiers had been drawing nearer to the towns about, and I had been left with no choice but to flee from the fate that being an outsider threw at me. “Don’t go,” he had said before my fears revived in my head, killing all peace.....

Bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark,
Now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart.
-Lorde.

A river runs red
From my knuckles into the sink.
As I stand there,
Hands dripping.
Washing the evidence of loving you,
Scrubbing the remembrance of the flesh.
Draining into pipes are memories of bodies together,
And mouths full of lies.

Last Christmas,
I gave you my heart.
But the very next day
you stuffed it underneath the floorboard with the rest of my corpse
until the sound of my heartbeat intensified your descent into madness.

Draped in
the cocoon of blackness,
my sweet eyes
stings with your blindness.