These hands that tremor,
Can’t hold your fragile demeanor.
For they only know doubt and suspicion.
They do not understand the anger and sadness boiling up.
Only the instinct to drop anything that might burn these cautious hands.
•  •  •
These hands that tremor,
Can’t fix the shards that they broke.
For the pieces are too fine and sharp.
They bleed and cut at the attempt to change.
Only when these hands are lost and gone, you can build yourself up again.

Emotions run dry.
The water runs dry.
And I am no longer the perfect flower you wanted on that Christmas night.
My petals are torn and wilted. The color faded.
I’m afraid I can’t stay longer for where I’m headed.
So throw me, toss me in the pile of compost.
And just maybe I’ll be the flower of your dreams once again.

Let my emotions run wild.
Keep the cup overflowing.
Don’t turn off the tap.
Don’t leave me.
Let me speak. Let me cry.
Please don’t take what is mine.

My eyes droop and grasp at the acknowledgment of darkness.
The brain wanders and runs from these memories.
Hands curl and scrape the desperation into the silicone skin
Close your eyes. Let the ability to feel go.
Let it go and feel at peace.

Flowers blossom in summer and she, the one who tends.
The rose that took years to bloom, exhilarates that shimmering white. It would be enough.
But for her eyes look beyond. Between the fence that hides the beauty of her creations.
Stems that escape to her. Petals that don’t belong to her.
The scandalous desire to take them. It would be more than enough.
Yet either’s beauty cannot be taken as the weight piles.
The guilt lets them grow and she waters them once again.

Your reflection is forming.
Guilt that stays behind the paned glass.
Gasp for air that was never yours.
For we share the same. Yet you take it all.
Let us rot and wither until the true one is left.

The light that shines within,
Seeping out for closure,
Only to be hidden in the comfort of the shade you will never touch.
Too bright, too much.
Seek the desire to burn you out.

The tears that uselessly fall will never drown you.
They will only be a little misfortune in your day.
A puddle amidst the rain.
Something to see around you. Something to be expected.
Only to be avoided or stepped on.
So forget about it. Let time pass.
Let the sun shine and evaporate it.
A new day has come, embrace it.

The praise of death was a selfish desire.
You know this.
Yet the prayer comes every morning and night.
But, with no avail does your wish come.
So be it,
and let the desire eat you whole.

Go forth and be who everyone wants you to be.
Speak in tongues that aren’t your own.
Involve into hobbies that will deteriorate living.
Analyze them like a book and answer with an A+
Forget yourself.
And praise the new you.

I’m so tired.
But I need to be better.
If I am not,
What is the point of doing?

A puppet for you to use as you please.
Each string tied around limbs
Preventing the steps of my free will.
Did I ever have a mouth to speak with?
Or was it you who just drew it on my face?
I believed I was yours. You thought I was yours to take.
Perhaps we both were mistaken.
But this life is no longer mine to live.
So I will let you have it.
I will become the lifeless puppet you needed.
And just maybe,
you won't forget me.

Your arms that hold me leave no comfort.
But the hands slotted around my neck,
They fit perfectly like a missing puzzle piece.
Once the puzzle is finished, it is meant to be forgotten.
And so I will be forgotten,
To this curse of a once promising life.

A painting of who I was
A sketch of who I am
To want to cherish the painting.
To want to start again
The need for destroying it.
The freedom of starting anew.
A lifetime of step forwards.
A life of looking back.

A question that has so many answers.
A question that may be too difficult to answer.
But the answer is always “yes.” or “no.”
Never that “maybe.” That’s only in your head.
You lie to others because you yourself aren’t sure.
Maybe that’s why the question is so hard to answer.

The beating in my heart won’t stop.
I tell people it beats too fast. They don’t believe me.
This rhythm reminds me of my time.
Each thump a tick. A tick off my clock.
And sometimes. Sometimes that sickens me.
I want to dig my fingernails into my chest. To separate the atoms forming my skin. To split it apart
Reach deep within my chest and grab my beating heart. With my own two hands.
I will tell you the memories we had. The times I cried. The times I was scared. And the times you lacked to beat when I thought I met the person.
I will cry to my heart.
Why?
Why did you choose my lifeless body? I surely didn’t look that helpless.
Did I?
I will then scream.
I’m angry. I’m furious at you. Why weren’t you just there for me?
I was alone and you were the only one who was there.
So why?
I can feel my heart beating in my hands and it sickens me.
I want to throw up.
My hands grip my heart. I want to stop this beating, this ticking.
So I do.
I crush it. I crush you with my hands until the beating stops.
Until I am just a lifeless body once again.

Why did you leave me?
Why did I leave you?
We were both tired.
Half-hearted jokes never would fix the cracks between us.
Small imperfections and biased opinions.
This was never going to work out.
We both knew that.