And when the little love of my life
Looks me in the eyes
and asks me,
"Mommy, what are the stars?"
I'll look into vastness above,
Squeeze their hand and say,
"My dear, I wouldn't worry about the stars too much.
One day you will fall in love with one,
And with every bright star,
It will swell with light and be reborn.
Sometimes, my little one, their rebirth will not include you.
You may wish on those bright stars,
But do not expect your wish to shine with them."

I lay on my back and I opened up to you,
Like a book lying on its spine.
It’s pages spread apart,
You rubbed the coarse paper in between your fingers,
Sliding down the edges even though you knew you would get a paper cut.
You turned the pages ever so softly,
Careful as to not let a crease happen.
My soul danced around your fingers,
My body shook beneath the words you whispered to me,
I spilled my secrets like the jumbled words on white sheets of spilled ink.
I was your novel and I couldn’t be more happy to let you construct the sentences of our slow,
Unwinding,
600 page book.

While you stuff my throat with your words,
I still have you wrapped around my pinky.
For you are rendered under the power of my lips,
The slight touch of my tongue on your neck,
The will of every man held between my legs.
You shake,
You grab at me,
You moan my name and yet,
You think you have your power.
As I lay with you,
Your soul slips into perdition,
Your eyes beg for mercy,
My fingers trace down your abdomen and leave marks behind.
My pet tiger,
You have earned your stripes and in my keep, you stay.
You buckle under the pressure of my whimpers and whispers,
The scrunch of my face while you hold my body beneath yours,
Our foreheads pressed together in pleasure.
My love,
You cannot leave me.
For I have your own will used against you.

Laying here in your warm embrace,
While the rain trickled and poured,
Tangled bodies in cold sheets.
You said the words that had befallen me once,
Many times before you I believed but this time,
I did.
“I love you.”

I felt the familiar emptiness,
The hurt and loneliness.
Maybe it's homesickness,
Yearning for something a little less painless.

I am an object so use me to your ill advised.
I am nothing more than a slender figure beneath the sheets.
Once occupied beside me but now,
I am alone.
I am alone and scared.
You have left me in a crumpled manner,
an innocence stripped,
Mind erased of thought.
I had lain there in amidst your peppered bruises,
sprinkled all over my body like the gentle snow outside but nothing was ever so gentle about you.
I had fought,
I had kicked,
I had screamed.
What more could I do than to lay down in defeat beneath the rocks that were your hands, your body as a brick.
Your raspy voice in my ear as I lay limp,
In the sheets,
Once occupied,
But now alone.
How could I have known a smile so sweet,
A voice so smooth,
A gesture so kind,
Heavily turned to hushed violence,
A slip,
A fall,
A dark memory.
Your hand clamped over my soft lips now torn,
Your body between my bare legs, now bruised and red,
My mind innocent and pure now rots with your voice that rings in my head as you dump me in my normality.
I sorely walk,
I sorely stumble,
I sorely drop into the hot water to burn your touch away.
I will not forget you,
I will carry your scars you left,
And I will pretend I did not exist that night.
I died in those empty sheets,
I was embodied into the name I had earned.
****, is what you called me.
I will not forget how you wiped your hands on me,
I will not forget that I am nothing more than an object.
Use me to your ill advised.

There was a time where,
I would think about you, love.
Now, you are nothing.

I lay in bed beneath your body,
Panting and exposed,
Your hands created tremors,
Shaking legs and quavering moans.
Your lips were soft on mine,
Hearts fluttering fast,
Heated passionate kisses,
Tangled hair and messy sheets.
Bodies tangled,
Heavy breathing,
Knotted up hair,
Hickey peppered skin.
You said unto me,
Fingers buried in my skin,
My hair covering our faces,
Our foreheads pressed together.
“I will love you forever.”
We were one person,
One moment,
One soul.
We shared the oxygen that lingered between us,
Love poured from heavy weight of our need,
Our want.
We were done for and for once,
I was perfectly fine with his lingering touch on my body.

This aching in my chest,
Feelings of regret,
Remorse was apart of my dying sorrow,
The life drained from the very existence of my pain.
I had the hands of a dying man,
Old and speckled like the dirt before our time.
I walked without pride in my stride and my unforgiving emptiness was adjourn.
For a moment I felt peaceful with this walk of mine.
Then, I collapsed.

I could tell you that you were enough to hold me down,
Like a weight you'd tie a couple of balloons on,
Steadily letting gravity caress me to it's surface,
Wondering if I’ll ever touch the moon.

There was a vast emptiness within me,
A hole that could never be filled.
My bones clattered inside of this body,
A body no longer my own.
With every step I took I felt the weight of my existence lay heavy on me,
My heart beat like the wings of a humming bird and yet I still felt no warmth

Tell me about the hidden closet,
The skeleton key that danced gently upon your collarbone,
Fragile and cold against your pale skin.
Death,
I called you.
Elegantly tragic,
Your white horse with his dead eyes stared into the souls of which you kept.
All but mine.
I was the lock to your skeleton key,
Your unwinding and unapologetic soul dwindled in my hollow bones.
Tainted blood and warmth that imitated life itself,
You bringer of death.
Your key belonged to you but your soul belonged to me.

Because the smell of the candle reminds me of the way we fell asleep in each others arms.
Because we went to the store to pick out something together,
Nothing too huge,
Nothing too light,
Something that continues to haunt me.
I bought the candle again to remind me of the times I had you.
I bought the candle again to sleep in your t-shirt and hug my pillow close.
I no longer sleep in your arms,
But I continue smelling the candle that steadily
   B
          U
                R
                     N
                           S
And I cannot stop feeling your presence just when I'm about to drift off,
Smelling your shampoo,
While I slip into a deep sleep,
Only to see you in my dreams.

It’s like you can’t stop thinking about her.
The way she uses her hands to talk,
The way her heart sounds when she’s explaining what falling out of love sounds like,
The way her mouth moves in the shape of smile,
The sound of heartache in her voice because the love of her life walked out on her.
You just wanna be that person,
Take that pain away from her,
Holding her until she’s whole again,
Loving her like the way she loves someone else.
The way you hear your heart being chipped away,
Chiseled under the war hammer of heartbreak.
The stone that becomes your heart when you realize you can be the center of her universe.

Our love was like snow.
It was gentle yet cold,
Pieces of the sky,
Pieces of us,
Drifted and fell.
Darling it’s cold out here,
In this winter bound heartbreak.
Kindled firewood,
Bundled up in blankets,
I tried everything to keep the frostbite out.
Slowly you crept back in,
Like frost in the night,
Covering every inch of my eternal sunshine.
My unhinged mind and my papier-mâché heart,
Folded in on one another with every dispute of my soul.
Snow ever falling,
Piling up in inches,
Measuring my heart diminishing.

I now understand the time of the Renaissance,
Where the clouds painted across the sky were strung of gold,
How the sky was painted by Michelangelo’s hand,
Where the cherubs danced and sang amongst the fluffiness of the timeless sunset.
I understood the dream of the gods painted in soft lights and surrounded by gold,
I began to understand the offerings and the worship to the creatures that blessed us with the sun and sky.
I started understanding when the sunset before us stretched into forever when I looked over and you were painted in those golds,
Those soft rays of peach and marigold.
To feel effervescent in a moment that made me feel warmth and love,
To know your name and heart in the ever increasing stretch of sky,
Is like painting the clouds so I can have an excuse to gaze upon your face while you watch in awe of the colors made just for you.

And in the wake of our every being,
Our souls were intertwined not by the fault of ours,
But the stars and the sea.
He is mine,
And I am his,
For we were made at the burst of the start of the universe and that is, in and of itself,
is truly divine.

And it feels a little emptier each time I remember you.
I see you,
But not really.
I feel you,
But you’re not there.
I hear you,
But everything’s a whisper.
After everything,
I miss you.
I miss everything that are and were.

To be loved is wild, dangerous, and carefree.
To love, it is soft and gentle.
To love from afar, it is bittersweet, lonely, and all the more enchanting.

I am self destructive.
I am abusing the body I occupy and yet I am guilty of it.
I throw myself into the abyss at any inconvenience,
Consume liquor until the rooms spins,
Inhale smoke until my lungs are black,
Until I ache from throwing up,
Until I'm sobbing so hard my eyes swell.
I love the thrill of the pain and yet,
I yearn to be away from it.
I am yet again drowning in the undertow,
With only myself to blame.
Dragged to the depths of self mutilation,
I only have the ***** and cigarettes for comfort.
How ******* poetic of me.

You gave me a sense of endearment,
A wonder of beauty.
I felt whole when I looked at you,
My heart filled with your touch.
I imagine running my fingers through your hair,
Listening to you laugh,
Feeling your hands on my body.
Thank you for giving me an understanding of how to love,
To be capable of loving.

Wet eyes,
Tear stained cheeks.
Pursed red lips,
Soft hiccups and steadying breaths.
She quietly whispered,
"Maybe I wasn't meant to be here."
Warm tears rolled softly down her face once more,
Squeezing her eyes shut.
Slowly, she looks out into the stars,
And whispers,
"I'm coming home."

I will always be in love with your light.

And I wonder if they'll write stories about me.
About the tales of my adventures,
The people I've met,
The hearts I've broken,
The tears I've shed,
The fear,
Anguish,
Pain,
Abandonment,
Callousness,
Abrasiveness,
Rumo­rs,
Lies.
I wonder if and when they tell of the bad,
They don't forget the good, too.
You see, I'm not perfect.
The image that I've seamlessly wrapped myself in isn't all bad.
The image of me that once existed in people's minds,
I am not responsible for.
Because while I am many things,
I am also loving,
Caring,
Understanding,
Thoughtful,
Patient,
Timid,
Soft,
­Warm,
Gentle,
Kind,
Human.
Many people of my past forget that I am human and so are they.
I focused so much on my mortality,
I forget that I, too, make mistakes just as much as the next person.
I just hope that where my legs may carry me,
I am kinder,
I am softer,
I am less angry at who I was and focus on who I am.

Why are we hard-wired to love the hard?
We mend ourselves to shield from the pain,
Only to jump back into the arms of another "too tight" hug.
We break our backs for the people who don't want us,
Who don't need us,
Who don't love us.
We fall from great heights to trust the drop of water below,
To expect an ocean of greatness,
Of stability.
We end up face first onto the pavement,
Splattered about but still alive.
Alive but dying,
Dying yet alive.
Our brokenness becomes us,
Defining the very feature of what love may or may not be,
According to the bad we suffered before.
We outline our other half into the expectations of what we have experienced.
Is it unjust?
Is this what pulls our hearts into the directions we want it to?
If our love becomes boring,
Does it mean we are content?
Or are we upset that we aren't strung out like a ******,
Addicted to the toxicity like a needle setting fire to someone's veins,
Boring because we found peace among the calamity and we are too young to be just that,
Content.

Imagine all the ways
That I could cut myself
Into tiny little pieces
That separated from loving you
And loving myself

Picture those pieces
Were like glass
And they sparkled
While falling to the ground

You'd think
The night sky
Had fallen
To Earth

Oh how tragically beautiful
That must be.

All of it.
I'd give all of it,
If it meant that we could start over.