There's nothing left
of all that could've been
except my empty shudder
inside this chest,
begging to rot
from the outside in
where lust equals death
where death equals trust
where nothing,
(nothing at all)
keeps me alive
for the nothing that's left.

The other day I dove into water...
I swear I heard
your voice
like an echo
stirring in my mind
as I was drowning,

As my heart spent its last breath,
it said your name.

What happened,
to all the missed moments we had put in a box,
tossed away.

Dewey Decimaled
out like library index cards,
I always thought we'd be able find them again.

I never thought that before we'd go searching,
that building would be burned down by you.

"If you love something, let it go.
If it doesn't return, it was never yours,"
they said.

Well it WAS mine.
There are no two ways about it.

What they don't tell you,
is that some things don't return,
not because they weren't yours,
but because they die
without you to hold it.

There were always words I could have said.
I could've danced right off your edge, World.
Instead,
I stared into the Star's direction (hypnotized) for nearly a decade,
and stumbled, blind, off your edge, World.

This aircraft is in flames.
The fuselage, broken.
My fingernails, bent.
My knuckles, white.
My parachute, missing.
My life,
flashing before my blind eyes.

Sunspots and stutters singled out in the paradox of oil,
dripping like *** I do not want.
Curse my name, break me apart
leave me (hear).
*******.

Help me crawl to you,
who are you?
*******.

Drape me in your comfort, fingers in my hair,
my baby screams, hold your hand on my head,
cradle me in your peace,
death.

Wipe the tears from these sun-burnt cheeks.
This ******* temple shattered,
crushed me beneath it,
crippled my ability to breathe.
Pray for me.
*******.

These brittle teeth are covered in germs.
Let me inside you where I turn my sins over to you.
Who are you?
*******.

I would skin my bones,
cover them in tar,
bathe in alcohol,
light me aflame.
Love me. Hate me.
I do.
*******.

There are gentle curses,
simple words that would break you
into those pieces you are,
scattered on the floor,
swept gently into my dustpan of marble,
reassembled from the
broken little statue you are
not so little, are you?

I'd reassemble your last horizons,
raining bleak shores of a suicide walk off of Beachey Head.

Smash,
dissolve into the waters,
and turn the ocean waters
purple.