I grew up in a house of closed doors and retreating footsteps, so light I wondered if anyone was even there. A house of ghosts, defined by a thick layer of dust on the couches, and doorbells that were never answered.

I grew up in a house of silence, the only signs of life: coffee mugs in the sink, and leftover crumbs on the kitchen counter. Silence so palpable it wraps itself around my throat until it becomes comforting. The microwave cannot reach zero here.

Birds chirp incessantly on Sunday mornings, and the weight of their music sits heavily on my chest. Plants reach for a slab of sunlight trickling between dusty window shades. I can hear their leaves straining, and I want to tell them to stop.

A patch of sunlight reaches the floor, and my cat purrs loudly and unforgivably in it's warmth. Sitting at the edge of my bed, there are hushed footsteps down the hallway, a door softly shuts, the silence is broken.

My throat tightens, and I shrink away from the light. To be unseen and unheard here is to be safe. There are five ghosts in this house, and I am one of them.

Nobody would believe the reason I know I am more depressed today, than I was before,

Is based on the cleanliness of my cats litter box which I emptied every 3 days. Yes. I'm sorry. I worked alot. I was forgetful. I still am. I felt so guilty. I still do.

Now, I try to every day. I try. Every day. So tell me, how can I be more depressed? Shouldn't I be lounging around in bed? Forgetful?

No. Listen to me. I know it. I really am. I know I'm more depressed now because I am taking care of my cat more...which means I'm trying not to focus on me...which proves I'm not focusing on me...oh wait I'm not focusing on me...oh wait......wait me......wait....wait...


Me.

I stumbled,
grasped for your calloused hand,
but only caught your laughter
on the way down.

I wrapped its crude edges around me,
so that when I hit the ground,
you hit too.

misty waters lap at abandoned shells

floating driftwood and
individual grains of sand
are pulled into darkness

what once held carved names
and footprints of lovers
fade into the sea.

like the shore
i, too,
am slowly and irrevocably
swept away.

Creamy hair gel springs a bouncy curl into place and a flash of silver glimmers in the mirror.

The decades weave themselves through flutters of soft, wispy hair.

Doesn't she know?
She is me. I am her.
And I am getting older with her.

It is a privilege to watch the two of us.

9:52 p.m.

The low humming of the street lamp is interrupted by the clinking of the overhead bell, and I am hit by a rush of cool, stagnant air as I pull the double door open. A man slouches over the register, marked by pearly translucent skin and bloodshot eyes. Offers me a smile and glances sidelong out the fogged window.

We speak.
I tell him life hurts tonight.
And, hey, wouldn't it be easier if humans didn't possess consciousness?

                                  He laughs.
                                  It is hollow.
                                     I laugh.
                                  It is hollow.
                                   A mirror.
                                 A reflection.
                                        
We are in sync. Swimmers on an Olympic team that do not come up for air. We suffer. We struggle. We would rather die.

Laced with the reminder: I am alone.

A part of my soul peels away at the corner, 1950's wallpaper never glued on quite right; torn edges lift themselves up and in any other reality perhaps my mother's love would have been waiting for me there.

But the edges continue to peel into a mocking smile. Mocking itself. Mocking me.

There is no hope to be found here.

The overhead bell jingles as I step out onto the steamy pavement, popping a mint and freshening my breath for the coroner.

do not play with matches
i have been fire my entire life

the danger lies not in flames,
but in smoldering embers
where my demons croon lullabies
that lull me into ash.

a grey placeholder
for a story that will never be finished.

i cannot read those chapters
without wanting
to set all of my pages on fire.

On the balcony
Wrapped in a blanket of humid darkness
It is almost pure the way
I melt into the wall
I see the glowing ember of a
crumpled cigarette in the distance.
And I imagine myself,
a bird with feathers
Sharp as razor blades
cutting through the thick fog like butter.

Tonight
I am above the city,
and the lights swallow me whole.

I do not know how to love you in moderation.

My loneliness curls up next to you, falls softly asleep in your arms, and suddenly I am so light I could float away.

On Sunday mornings, I am a mug of hot tea, fragile and overflowing at the thought that in some other life, we are apart.

I do not know how to love you in moderation.

I imagine your cool fingertips tracing the back of my neck, and it doesn't matter that I don't know how.

Because it is in loving you, that I am home.

i am afraid of the unknown,
of losing you before ever having you.
but words slip through my fingers like water,
and i am a desert of longing.
hungry for the warmth
of your guarded, caramel eyes.
and the softness of your smile,
like snow falling on a frozen lake.
the sweet honey of your voice
sticks to my body like sweat,
and i am lost in you.

if this is love,
then I am yours,
and always have been.

I have tucked you away, behind dusty bookshelves and locked doors. And filled myself up with the past, to pretend that I am not made of stale air and longing.

It is the only place that is beautiful enough to write about, where the sunlight filters through the open window, and your arms wrap sleepily around my waist. Anchored in this reality, I walk the earth blind.

I write, bleeding and frenzied, to keep this place alive, because I am not ready to let go of the only world where you still love me.

And when insanity comes knocking on my door, I will welcome him with open arms and one thought,

"Oh, how I have missed you."

You are the love that came without warning.
It was almost pure
the way you unfolded my mind,
an origami flower
frozen in winter.

You left wrinkles
in my paper heart.
And I am softer from having loved you.

I lick the salt off my lips,
Pinpricked with vinegar.

I can feel the current
Smooth its navy hands,
Along my curved spine.

I am swallowed whole by you
Bittersweet
And wrapped in silence.
You are a breath of fresh air.

tell me

lying there,
open and bare on cool linen sheets,
are your thoughts innocent?

they lick the bare white of your ribs,
swirl around it's bone smooth edge,
and beg to be tamed

lean over your trembling, salty skin
and whisper sweetly in one ear,

is the blood rushing to your head?

It was so long ago when I believed I could not survive losing you, that I could not go one day without seeing you. Years ago that I realized my heart would crack and decay into lumps of dry ash at your absence.

But we talk about loss as if it happens only once. "If I lost you". Wouldn't it be amazing to have lost you only once ?

I did lose you once. And again. And again. I've lost you a thousand times since then.

I lost you the morning after you left, when I woke up alone. I lost you a month later when I found your sweater. I lost you again a moment later when I realized it still smelled like you. I lost you when my family said your name, and I lost you again when they asked about how you were.

It's been 8 months, and I still lose you.

Wouldn't it be nice, to have lost you only once?

the string slowly loses its tune
weighed down by dust
do you smell the residue of my fevered skin,
of nights that echo into days, fear and mistrust

hold the shadows at bay, masters of monotony,
creak the musty floorboards of that swollen mind,
cast the moldy anchor into those pregnant fields of wheat,
for there will come a time when there is
no freedom
to be found in the music of a ship

I feel my body ignite when you look at me, and it hurts.
It hurts to want you.

Can you see the fire tearing holes in me?

You've inched your way into every corner of my mind like a disease.
I see my breath in the frigid winter air and it reminds me of you.

When I close my eyes, I can almost feel your hand on my waist.
My heart quickens and drops into my stomach.
I open my eyes.
You're still not there.

Can you feel how much I crave your bare skin against mine?

Listen for me in the quiet crunch of the dirt as you run.
Listen for me in the puff of smoke from your lips,
and the bright orange of a sunset.
Did you see the bird that just soared by?
That was me.

If you saw me everywhere, like I see you,
Your heart would constantly beat faster, and your stomach would do flips.
You wouldn't be able to sleep at night.
Your bones would ache every moment of the day.

But you don't.

It's okay.
Sometimes I think I'll never stop wanting you, though.
Sometimes I think that my heart will always beat faster when you look at me,
that my breath will always catch, and my stomach will always twist into knots.

Sometimes I wish I could explain to you how much it hurts,
how much it hurts to want you.

You look straight at me
and stab me over and over with the
intense gaze that only you possess.
I don't back down,
I don't look away.

Time crawls by, slows to a halt,
and this time,
I know.
I know why I'll never let you go.

It's because during these moments,
it's only you and me.

I suffer through the aches and the pain
and the disappointment and the fear that suffocate
me like smoke, and I forget to breathe.
All for you.

The days inch like worms along my hollow shell.
They anchor themselves inside me, whisper things;
tell me he's forgotten, that he doesn't care anymore,
that he's finally stopped caring.

But I don't listen.

When your eyes meet mine,
the people around us disappear and fade into the background.
I don't know where they go and I don't care.

I feel every sway of the wind against my bare skin,
I hear every blade of grass bend.
Sometimes,
sometimes I swear I can even hear your heartbeat.

I anticipate what happens next,
that lightning bolt,
straight into my gut.
A splash of cold water against my heart.
An electrified pulse you shoot into my veins
like a drug.

People reappear.
Life slips between us.

But I still don't look away.
I hold your eyes with mine like I have always done.
Do you want to know why? Why I never, ever look away?

Because you make me feel alive.

when I see you,
clocks have stopped.
the rhyme is no more.
time has been blocked.
this has happened before.
you look at me,
so breathtakingly pretty,
i forget to breathe.
isn't it such a pity?
how quickly i am entangled
in your heart of lies.
i become just another conquest.

when the clocks have stopped,
my willpower dies.

golden curls
spilled around her
crystalline features
frigid winter air
surrounded her empty heart
freezing her thoughts
crystal eyes reflected
snow bearing limbs
curling like arthritic fingers
while water embraced her
plastering golden curls
to her frozen bones

pearls dust
crinkly brown leaves
leaving them soft
and vulnerable
whispers ruffle their
existence
threatening to
tear them from their limbs
do not be afraid,
a kind whisper
enticing
in the heat
seductive
under their cool touch
one by one
they slide down
one snap,
another,
a flurry of oranges and browns and reds
and then nothing,
only naked trees shiver