you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.

Eyes propped open by the incessant thoughts that threaten to keep you staring up for the rest of your life, continuing to search for the relief that doesn’t exist. This is how you shrivel up and die in the tub full of self-hatred, in the bubbles drawn from the shadow close behind you. You don’t know how to do it like the rest of them, waking up and walking along and not having to fight off daydreams where a happy ending looks a lot like a fresh pile of dirt in the meadow. Knobby knees knock together and your feet won’t even still while you’re lying down. Always needing to run towards the “more,” the “better,” never finding solid ground to build a hiding place.

Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside
this meaty microwave--
I am on these streets and don't know
how I got here.
I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand,
and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right--
I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how
I still have 2%, but no one laughs because
no one has ever really been around to hear me.
So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that
milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs.
I stop whisking and ask who is there.
Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you
the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by
ceramic seashells.
And it's you.
You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence
caused by my auto-pilot parents
Forever,
right here.

LOVE HAS ONLY EVER BEEN A RAFT TO CLING TO IN THE WAVES OF MY SHADOWED MIND BUT NOW IT IS THE ACCESSORY I PUT ON EVERY DAY, THE SIDE EFFECT OF BEING ALIVE AGAIN, AND IT IS THE MOST TERRIFYING THING I HAVE COME TO KNOW IN THIS NEW LIFE.  LOVE IS NO LONGER ALL-ENCOMPASSING.  LOVE IS NOW THE THING I CRAVE AT NIGHT AND ON THE WEEKENDS.  IT DOESN'T KEEP ME FROM KILLING MYSELF BUT IT KEEPS ME FROM THE DULL MONOTONY OF HAVING NOTHING TO THINK OF WHEN I'M GETTING WORSE.  HIS LOVE IS LIKE A ******* PUNCH.  I HATE IT BUT IT HURTS MORE WHEN I HAVE TIME TO BREATHE IN BETWEEN THE HITS.  THIS FEELING THIS FEELING THIS FEELING IT TEARING ME APART.  THIS FEELING THIS FEELING THIS FEELING I CANNOT BEAR TO EVER LIVE WITHOUT.

roses are red
night is dark
writing this poem
hurts my heart

shaky sobs
like violets, i'm blue
i'm wondering
why i ever loved you