My claws are stuck into the door
-vicious creature with lust only for the ones that have left,
careless girl carelessly intoning her hymn,
word by word, undoing by undoing-

I hold an abyss in my chest,
I hold the exile I accept,
You hold my last asthmatic breath:
it breaks your lungs and blocks your throat.

In the end you beg,
in the end you receive.

Convince me of the purpose of breathing,
confide to me the reasons for letting go.

You lie on this bed with no sheets, only ghosts
you touch your lips in movement,
you deliver words of an author unashamed of his own limitations.
You seek to erase what has been:
out of context – unimportant,
inside this body -- crucial.
Without hesitation, you let your words slip
and your crimes spill
and you still haven't left this bed.

The third re-enactment is a joke;
the lines you rehearse haven’t been yours in so long.

I must seek forgiveness elsewhere,
or so this ceiling speaks,
as I spoke to it several nights ago,
clearly and immensely,
ready to choke on my own self-importance.
As I deny this memory,
my memory denies me the sweetness of yesterday
or of a decade ago.

In a different country, I look up at the same ceiling,
consistently,
unforgivingly.

Rest a thought at the edge of my bed;
I never minded the immeasurable,
nor the immensity of what a second can bring.
Whether the cracks in the walls can speak
(their mouths are too close to my ears,
their breath is too far into my subconscious,
too far into my unforgivable thoughts),
or the outside air can fill an emptiness not yet defined-
it won’t matter-
closeness and loneliness have never felt this similar.

Rest your being onto mine;
This is the last drop of vulnerability I dare give away.

I wash the sand off my skin,
Attempting a transformation-
From lover to myself,
From past to myth.
Catching your own mind in betrayal
Is to be forgiven-
You are only your own now,
You have only your own duality,
Your own unsolvable self.

Try to see-- the end is not what you imagined;
Try to understand-- immortality is never a blessing,
and the love you seek is not yet born.

Her blood is the blood of the stars,
Haven’t you heard?
They’ve played your dismissal in the choir of misfortune
And the roses you grew have found their perish
Long before the season of blossom.
Your name can’t be read in constellations anymore,
Nor can you see what you once were.

In a moment, the world turns
And the girl you knew escapes.
From the rings of Saturn she leaps,
And from her fingertips she lets go.

The witch’s hour approaches-
What an unearthly time to be alive,
To open your eyes in fear,
To shut them back into illusion.

In your tired veins, yesterday’s sorrow sneaks through;
Do they burn with numbness?
Does the air caress your venomous pores?

This girl is a witch;
A witch is a saint,
For all the saints have confessed
To having sinned.
Can a god resign?
Can he seek forgiveness?
I hold him in the palm of my hand-
Tired creature,
Old with time,
Dark with worry.
There are no resurrections left to save
What is to be forgotten anyway.

The witch’s hour passes by—
The almighty can be put to rest once more;

Sleep in a mattress of distress,
Slip in oblivious bliss.

if this room bites,
then so do I;
remember how many times change has been spoken,
uttered though ****** teeth.
you make your own wounds,
you collect your own tears,
you tear apart your own red string.

If this room bites,
There’s no need to knock-
I’ll be here.

Courteously skipping through petals and broken glass,
I make my way home.
It’s been a while.

Trees bow down in greeting;
Rain dampens my cheeks,
Mildly reminding me of the way things used to be,
When innocence still stained me red,
When stars still blinked at me.

So now I walk with steady steps
That the ground doesn’t recognize.
Only depth and chasm know my pace.

I push open the door--
“Good evening, girl of ice.
Same darkness, same time?”

Do angels taste regret?
It seems unnatural
To count the feathers that remain,
When all the rest have turned to ash.
Reclaim your wings,
Even if broken,
Even if unholy,
Even if they cut into your ribs
when you try to sleep.

The sky never swore to protect;
It only promised to allow the fall.

Nothingness is having a conversation
With the human it created.

Soft-faced, the moon looks down
On a not so soft girl.
Call for me-
I’ve been waiting,
I’ve been longing,
I’ve forgotten what it means
To burn.

It’s been a while since the world bothered with my presence.

Us, lonely creatures, we’ve got something special: we can rebuild ourselves several times,
only from the pieces we saved on the way down on a night not unlike this one
under a moon not unlike
the colour of your skin since you’ve been giving yourself away without reason
only to maybe stop the ticking in your head
time is running
time is flying
time is taking a spaceship to where you want to be but never will be able to reach
because that’s what you found out when you screamed your way into this world and somehow you managed to stop the screaming
even if you’re just as terrified as when you first saw the light you never asked for.
Find me, universe. Even you forgot where you tossed me.
You are a melancholic soul, child.
You turned yourself inside out and still haven’t found the source of this feeling.
Some things shouldn’t be seen during the day.
Clean up all your vulnerable parts and stack them under the carpet.
Pack up your heart and tape it shut.
Don’t let the red escape, because red is poisonous and you’ve got so much venom inside your mouth
that you forgot what being pure tastes like.
I’ve been seeing red
I’ve been breathing red
I’ve been crying red.
Does loneliness mean anything anymore?
You’ve chewed it up and spit it out so many times
10 times each morning and
20 times each night just to keep it under control.
Where is your control?
Where is your essence?
Where is your patience?
You’ll need it when every inch of you asks for harmony in a million different ways that go against each other
and which voices are you supposed to listen to when you’ve been talking to yourself so much you forgot what your own voice sounds like?
Home is nowhere and everywhere all at once
and sometimes I find it within myself but
sometimes this body is a strange building I’ve never set foot in before.
I let the wind cleanse me from the inside out.
His whispers are comforting; his touch is the rebirth I crave.
May I try again? I’m not quite sure I understand what it means to live in this world.
I’m still longing for the one I left.

It’s alright,
It doesn’t have to be forever;
Does it?

Do you ever watch the stars and think of the ones that have fallen?
I do.
I think so much at night it hurts.

Foolishly thinking distance has any power.
It doesn’t.
Look at the sky- I feel it so close.

If ever the moon reaches you quietly, shyly,
With a light so soft it could only be my own-
Know I have sent her.

Without any words, I’ll learn to let go
In my own time;
Or maybe not at all.

Need I terrify?
Need my eyes hold ancient rage
When my bones have grown so fragile?

I listen to the old song of my celestial origins;
the moon is mourning
Another year of lost children.

What does god know about being a human?
When dirt calls for me
I’ll tell him what it’s like to love your creations.

Where can I hide?
I’ve lost track of everywhere I’ve been found.

Never to disappear.

Steal me away;
Make me forget I ever lost my place
And wandered about these lands
Wandered about the forbidden and the outcast;
The ground bellowed for a bit of me
For a fistful of feathers
And a pinch of flesh.
Home never tasted like honey,
there was never a way back.

Here your life begins.
Here you find yourself drenched in solitude
That burns like gasoline every night.

This is your way of becoming one with the moon.

Steal me away;
make me forget I ever lost my place
and wandered about these lands,
wandered about the forbidden and the outcast.
The ground bellowed for a bit of me,
for a fistful of feathers
and a pinch of flesh.
Home never tasted like honey,
there was never a way back.

Here your life begins.
Here you find yourself drenched in solitude
that burns like gasoline every night.

This is your way of becoming one with the moon.

For once you were touched
like you deserved to be,
by sparkling gold,
by soft star dust
that caressed you in your sleep.
After all that darkness
you could’ve never seen the menace of light,
you only wanted to escape a fate
that did you no justice.

Once, I might’ve burnt down my own throne,
disgusted by the weeds that climbed around it;
I might’ve kissed my crown lovingly,
might’ve painted it with blood
before burying it with the rest of my thorns.

A kingdom needs its queen.
This queen needs herself back.

I dust off my cloak.
Where do souls go to rest?
Where do you return the body you borrowed?

The doors slide open-
away I go.

The moon can’t cure my illness
if I abduct all of her stars.

I fill my veins up with light
only to control the despair,
but I am left with a vacant sky.

Minutes tremble before me,
seconds fall at my feet;
I have no time left.

The delight of reaching rock bottom
without the impact.
Let me rest.

Fill me up to the brink with hope
and leave me for dead.
Leave me in secret.

In another land, I could’ve been soft;
I could’ve braided flowers in my hair
and sung lullabies at dusk.
In another land,
I could’ve been mellow,
sweet like a first kiss
and loved by the sun,
blushing from his touch.

Here’s to the girl I could’ve been;
here’s to the nights I wish I were her.

Let the wine spill over the mud,
let us pretend it isn’t blood,
let us pretend we haven’t swallowed the poison
that made our insides rot with desire
for the sky,
perhaps just to see how low we can fall.

In this land I am courageous,
covered in star dust that makes my eyes water.
In this land I hold the bitterness inside,
until it’s boiling.

Let me die a legend,
let me die lost in the land that made me who I am.

I could’ve been soft.
Instead, I am rage.

Shivers on skin— I walked among stars;
I walked on broken edges
I walked on broken light.

The sound of space is the mourning of a mother,
a lullaby of the past,
of all the pain it takes to become
on someone else’s demand,
and all the time it takes to disappear
by your own accord.

The night smells of burnt ash;
there are no falling wishes here,
only wicked angels.

Come, let us sleep.
It does not do to step on the dead.

Walk gently through these meadows,
do not disturb that which shouldn't be woken,
that which the gods struggled to put to rest.
They hold stories your grandfather tried to tell
with trembling hands and twitching eyes,
but you rendered them fiction,
even when they were digging holes beneath your feet.
The scent of the undead seeps through the grass,
and you'd think green shouldn't smell like rotting flesh;

Walk gently through these meadows,
hold on to dear life,
or better yet,
don't walk at all.

I breathe in the light
and I’m already choking;

this is no place
for the girls
that have ripped their own chest open;

do not save me now
I am to dwell with the unspoken.

hope is but a cruel creature
biting at your insides,
while claiming to be keeping you alive.
love is but a nail,
driven into your chest so deeply and so brutally,
you can’t ever get it out.
acceptance is but a cage,
keeping you locked from your desires
because they have wings,
and you can’t stretch your arms that far
through the bars.
but sweetheart, I reach out anyway,
and I hope,
and I love,
until my insides are nothing
but blood stained metal,
straining to survive.

Forgetful to a fault-
never eager to remember what has been,
because that only translates to what I’ve lost.
And if forgetting means ripping parts of my flesh,
I’ll do it with a smile
as if I’m shedding
the no longer needed:
I’ll give my wings-
reminders of my fall.
I’ll give my sore veins-
reminders of crimson red on white skin,
of crimson red on a white moon.
No memories will stain my life,
as the night sky is stained with light
unwilling to let true darkness exist.

Heroes are only born when remembered;
but I am to be forgot.
Remember me not.

​Roses and ashes- a world is awaiting.
a mistake and you fall,
but you won’t be regretting
all the screams and the cries,
the unholy you’re creating.
Rome is falling
or burning-
there’s no difference in unmaking.

Patience is a virtue,
they tell me,
only so that I won’t dare expect more
than what has been given to me,
should my heart shudder
with every desire I deepen into oblivion.
I vowed to shed my tears in silence,
not to disturb the sublime harmony of things,
not to listen to the deadly screams
that are bellowing me to them.
Our world is running late.
Our world promised us that which can’t be obtained,
that which lies inside each and every person
who finds their chest pounding
to the same rhythm
stars are born with.

Anticipation;
a drop of hope and a pair of arms lifted to the sky-
there is nothing more.

It’s hard to dwell
in a world not my own,
where no one comes to find me,
no one comes to make sense of
the words I rip from myself
like dead skin.

I don’t exist,
just as tonight never happened,
just as your lips never rested
upon mine.

I am made of hollows-
not much of anything,
maybe just a shadow,
maybe just the last cry of loneliness
before a cold hand comes to smother it.
It’s hard to imagine a future
in which
I won’t be just a repressed thought,
just a rain drop that refuses
to come down to earth.

And yet I try-
even if every time I turn to the light,
darkness is never far behind me,
ready to grab me by the shoulder
with her precise and malicious claw.

I could’ve loved you better.
I could’ve entwined my thoughts with yours,
hoping to create a bond so strong
that when we were to fall,
it wouldn’t be broken by gravity.
I could’ve peeked through the key hole
of your mind
just to get a glimpse of what
you were trying to hide.
I could’ve been standing
at the edge of the galaxy in your eyes,
in awe of all the ways in which you shone,
be it day or night.

Perhaps I didn’t know how to;
perhaps I thought I had more time.

I could’ve loved you better.
But I didn’t even understand how you could
so simply
so purely
so divinely
love me.

This is called loneliness.
This is more than what I bargained for
when I let you rip out my soul
and drag me in this underworld
of burning feelings
and forgotten people,
of everything that’s left behind
after it’s been used.
I feel your eyes on my tender skin
and it burns like venom through my blood.
But don’t you know
I’m becoming immune
with each passing second
and one day my gaze won’t be buried in the ground anymore.
Don’t you dare not look me in the eye
or run from my claws and growing scales;
Don’t you dare be surprised
if one day I bite without any warning;
don’t you dare say you’re sorry
before I turn you into stone.

This is called monstrosity;
this is becoming what you’ve always dreaded.

To demand too much is a sin;
so is rising to where I think I belong,
to where I remember I came from.
I remember,
even if the gods want me to forget,
to erase from my memory
the stern voice
they banished me with.
I came to earth through light-
the light of Jupiter’s wrath
after I dared wish for more.
Hubris is not to be played with,
is what the scars on my back remind me each night,
yet all I understand is,
I have nothing to fear anymore.

Do not tell me how to fall,
not when I still hold the memory
of having had wings.

You do not **** a goddess.
You open up her chest,
looking for magic
and leaving darkness instead.
You caress her skin
until the stars cut through it
from the inside,
eager to be touched as well.
You look for the universe in her eyes
and you get lost,
while she has to find you again.
You do not **** a goddess,
you do not make her less than she is,
but you lose her,
if while worshipping her
you forget that she bleeds.

There are feelings left inside of my chest,
just waiting to be stirred up,
to heat up,
to erupt.
But I’ve learnt to bite my tongue
and tighten my fists
and close my eyes until it passes.
Because it’s temporary,
it’s always temporary,
just like everything we ever had
and I don’t hold on to the temporary anymore.
I breathe in and I breathe you out,
day by day.
My throat might clench
from every word I’ve left unspoken,
but it’s time to swallow the bitterness
and let it be forgotten.
I am not to be devoured by it,
I am not to be haunted,
I am not to be knelt down by a memory
that has always been blurry.
Even when you were right in front of me,
I could never see your edges,
as if my brain had decided right from the beginning
not to remember you.
Remember me not.
Remember me not.
Remember me not.

You see, I shared so much with you,
I expected all the things that I liked
to be tarnished by your touch,
ruined by your absence,
broken by your memory.
But they aren’t.
The moon still glows over me like I’m her only child
and she never noticed your hand
entwined with mine.
The stars still smile shyly at me every night,
and they don’t whisper your name.
Everything I once was,
I still am.
I haven’t lost any pieces
and the places we went to
don’t carry your footsteps,
they don’t haunt me.
They just exist.
I still remember.
But that doesn’t change anything.
I kingdom built with strong bricks and love
doesn’t get blown down
by the wind passing through.

Was I a burning flame in the sky?
What am I now?
Now I’m struggling on the ground,
struggling to lift my gaze upwards,
to call for my sisters,
and my chest is pained
by the distance between us.
Now my flesh bleeds in shades of red
and my bones crack
from gravity’s pressure.
Now the only star dust
is in my eyes,
and it’s blurring my sight,
and it’s making me cry.

Was I a burning flame in the sky?
So what if I was?
Now I am only human,
so sensitive to pain,
so fragile,
so destructible.

I am merely a reminder
of what I used to be.

Have I been staring into the void for so long
that I started to think I wasn’t alone?
Had I known there was no way to enter,
I would’ve never knocked at this kingdom’s door.
I thought the moon was waiting for me on the other side
and I could fall in her arms,
relieved to have come back home,
after experiencing humanity
without my consent.
I never meant to fall,
I never meant to live as anything else
but a whisper of light in the darkness,
and yet…

The gods like sacrifices and so that’s what I  became.

There was nothing more-
nothing more than that benighted sound,
nothing more than the kiss of lady loneliness
in moments you felt
you were the only one left alive.
There would be nothing more-
never to feel the freedom
of a reckless heart beating
in a chest that isn’t decomposing ,
breath by breath.

We would’ve been more,
had we known how to be.
We would’ve been more,
had we been allowed
to demand what is ours.

There was nothing more
than your own fate smothering you,
breath by breath.

I find myself pressing my pen onto the paper so hard,
as if to make sure
the ink will never be erased,
the pain will never be forgotten,
this feeling will never fade.
My hand hurts, but I don't stop.
Now every word feels like redemption,
but every sentence
is an act of rebellion.
I can't tell whether I can feel
or I'm numb anymore,
but the scratches I make on this notebook seem real.
They seem permanent,
even if the beating in my chest isn't.
My breath might be polluted,
my blood might be poisoned,
my love might be molding,
but my words,
they're always true.
And that's how I know I'm alive.

Tonight should be made holy,
it should be painted with lights
and up there, in heaven,
together with them
should your luminous face reside.
Tonight should be kept safe
between your eyelashes
and heavy sighs,
it should be sung by crickets and waters,
it should be waltzed by us-
too in love to hide.
But should the sky not want to hold it,
should your eyes repel it with their tears
tonight should be forever forgotten
and we should sleep,
for it was only just a dream.

I wonder-
have you come to understand
why the world is silent at night
and what it means to be listening
to the darkness of the sky,
to be hoping a star might whisper to you
the secret
of how to keep waiting
of how to keep breathing
of how not to feel so alone anymore?

I've made a point of making the difference
between being in love with someone
and loving them.
Being in love is eating strawberry ice-cream
or holding hands on a walk in the park.
It is the smell of summer,
it is the touch of the sea breeze,
it is waking up from a sweet dream.
But loving,
loving is rainy days spent in between bed sheets,
is it the immaculate silence
you can only share with a heart that beats to the same rhythm as yours,
it is the sound of thunder.
So when you tell me you love me,
I almost want to believe it,
but I look into your eyes and understand
you have no idea what you're talking about.
You're confusing it with fascination, darling,
you're confusing it with curiosity.
You're taking the street lights for stars.
You're taking the depth of the ocean
for familiar territory.
Your desire to figure me out,
to put me together like a puzzle
and the moonlight we shared
had nothing to do with love.

Today I threw away the third letter I wrote to you.
I always write them under the moonlight,
under the impression that
it might somehow make every word sacred,
every sentence holy.
I write them with shaky hands and teary eyes.
I write them for me,
I write them for you.
But when morning comes,
I taste regret on my tongue
and each letter feels poisonous.
So I rip them apart
with the same fierceness I tore myself away from you.
Closure?
I don't know how to get it
when I'm not the only one that had been hurting.
I still hang on to the unfinished.
I only wish to let go.

I am still just a shadow.
I am still just star dust.
I am still part of a Universe I never quite knew
but I'm homesick for.
I bleed only to pull the stars out by their edges.
I close my eyes only to let the shine rest.
I look up only to remind myself where I came from.
And when you find my skin
between sheets and raw feelings scattered about
you'll flinch from the coldness.
And you won't know
what I hold inside
and that will be your curse.

Saying too much is regretful.
Saying too little is poignant.
But what is it when you feel
you've  done both at the same time?
There are words left on my tongue,
shards of sentences I'll never utter
shards that I had to swallow.
They cut deep into my flesh
and my insides turned into
a patchwork of glass, scars and blood.
And yet my mouth is dry,
tired of everything I let slip through my lips
when it should've never seen the light of day
or reached your ears
or reached your heart.
I keep thinking I should've known.
But I shouldn't have.
My mind would've gone mad
had I not released it
of some of its burden.
My heart would've dried out
had I not let
a few drops of your ocean
seep through.

Shivers on skin-
I walked among stars,
held them in my arms
and embraced them tight,
as I felt how my veins filled up with light.
I, too, wanted to be a fallen one,
to look for a place
where I could hope
and I could sigh,
without the pressure of having to shine.
But it failed to be found;
I turned back to the sky.

Under the moonlight, I understood
why darkness asked for my company
or why the stars were winking at me
each dreamless night.
I knew of my existence not as a human
but as a child of the moon, as a child born from mystery.
I bore my name and I spoke it
not in whispers,
but loudly, with a feeling of belonging
to a universe that showed itself wholly
in my complicated mind,
in my damaged soul,
in the green spark of my eyes,
which encompasses every word I've left unsaid,
in the emotion running smoothly down my cheek
whenever I was thinking of you.

I've been tasting darkness on my tongue
like candy;
I've been feeling blood flowing warmly through my veins,
ready for sacrifice:
the blood of a goddess,
the shine of the brightest star the night has ever held
and the mind of the most enigmatic child
the moon has ever raised.
I have been-
I am-
I always will be.
I feel,
I feel,
I fall with such satisfaction
you'd think I'm flying.
I let the sky bear the mark of my existence.

There’s never been much to hold on to,
much to care about.
Like a stray dog,
you’ve wandered through life
with glassy eyes and no expectations.
Now you dare dream,
you dare believe
and hope all burdens will be lifted.
You turn your eyes to the sky,
like you might once again fly,
like you were never banished,
like you never fell.

But here you are,
alone on christmas,
singing to yourself
not carols,
but songs of mourning.
No words,
only desperate cries.

The savior never meant to save you.