Any time my heart wants to text you
my brain knows to put the phone down  
nothing good ever comes from a “hey…”
we talk twice a year
once on my birthday and once on yours
that should be enough
but there are days when it doesn’t feel like enough
my brain and my heart spit knives at each other
arguing over who is right
should we text him
should we wait until next year
my heart starts typing out “it’s been a while”
and I immediately turn my phone off
its been 7 years, he’s over it
no one keeps feelings that long
“except for me”
we’re adults now, maybe things would be diff—
“I can’t afford to think that way”
thoughts like those cause nothing but stress and a pain in my chest
we can wait 11 more months
and we will have this internal dialogue 11 more times
and I will always wonder what might happen
if I actually press send
“I guess we’ll never know”
regardless
I’ll see you April 2nd

Speaking of broken hearts
and singed photographs in the fireplace;
I met a boy and I am painting his skies with clementine and petal pink
against the bright canvas moon.

My heart is fairy floss clouds
and you are the ice crystals attempting to cause rain.
I know you're trying hard to win me back,
but you gave up citrus and sugar for the possible promise of a new hue.

Now you stain the ground with your tears.
The harshest and deepest feelings spill
from those blackened heartstrings.

Like all fruit, the sweetest rots first.
So I became wine.
I am the last of the blackberries,
holding onto memories of the summertime.

But it is autumn now.
Pears plop into pools,
leaves fall onto roofs,
and this 'getting over you' thing is not working.

I cannot bring myself to ask you the hardest questions:

did you ever love me?
you've been with me before, can you do it again?
will you break my heart?

love,
ali

this house;
too dark, too quiet;
an unknown abyss.
tenants leave after six months;
running out screaming.

in this house,
*even the ghosts are haunted.

jolted from your slumber like a dead engine
panicked, you reach into the abyss for some sort of comfort
only to find that every liquid fantasy dissipates upon your touch
this forest of dreams has become a woodland of nightmares
eyes bleeding tears as the mist envelops you
it shoves you to the floor
screaming every insecurity back into your swollen skull
transparent devils dance at your feet
as they point to a tombstone engraved with your name
it seems like there is no hope for you
yes, even the dream catcher above your bed lost faith
but there is something keeping you alive
continue your fight
grab my hand in the darkness
for i am the comfort you have been searching for
because i too scream silence into the fear of the night

I am just another doll lost in the marionette holocaust