like hydrangeas,
you must allow yourself to bleed.
to fade from one truth
to another like from
blue to purple to pink.

I was young, gullible, naive
When you promised forever,
I believed you with everything

I fell ******* a flat surface
You said you'd fallen,
But you had a safety net

Now, I'm broken and alone
And you're perfectly fine
And hate who I am

they say empty vessels make the most noise
here i am, tearing my skin wide open
leaving myself right here in the hell we call earth
opening my heart just to be shot back down, again
here i lay, my body and mind empty
my heart blank, my limbs suffocating
my brain worn out and my fingers twitching
here i am, vulnerable and
empty

but here i am, not being able to make a sound
i open my mouth to speak but the words just won't come out
i am trying, i am trying
but my soul has shut down
i am silent
i am an empty vessel, a blank canvas
but i am not making the most noise, im not making any noise
just
because i don't  remember how to

I miss your kiss
scalding the valley of
my skin with your lips,
cooling it after your
tongue glaze them.

kiss me once again
like you used to do...

Do not abort words from love's womb;
she will choke herself
because she could not be a mother.
Stitch lips together. Let silence,
nothing,
be purity.

Words end.
They
are hot and furious, oozing
sores relishing in their own
blood.
Organisms,
dull black embryos, eyeless
until
roiled on red tongues;
spluttered, screamed, snaked
out into being.

They heal themselves to death by the hemlock of Time.
Dying is a definite thing - words are not
immortal, not greater than us.
Not love.

Autopsies reveal varied, unwanted truths:
either
heart splintered too swiftly
or
poison turned flesh to gore,
cell by cell.

Do not abort words from love's womb;
you are wrapping the umbilical cord
around your own neck.