Your love finds me in all manners
Wholly and unforgiving

And I have managed to love back beyond the narcissistic tendency of finding myself in another being
A sore attempt at reflection and acceptance

While your bones grow soft with passion
Mine do the same from the comfort

In which you thrive
But I suffocate

Please don't waste your breath in me
My identity is self inflicted
And you deserve more

Sometimes I exist in this in between
A wonder of the world but as a separate
Being. And in a state of constant curiosity.
Other times I wonder why I am alive.
And contemplate the most absurd of things.
I am made of the simplest materials:
Flesh and muscle and bone.
My heart beats the same as anyone else.
But regarded differently as others eyes trace my body.
"Does she really dress that way? And her hair? Why? Must she speak so loudly? Think so stupidly?  Act so dramatically?"
I am a child...fornication of stardust and a half baked idea created
A less than stellar infant of the world.
A question for the sake of life.
I was you, but only for a moment, as our eyes met and
You were me. As I gave you piece of my mind in exchange for
A thought from yours. And we exist
Together. But only in a sense of theory and philosophy,
If that is the type of thing you believe in.
If you see what I see, and maybe you do,
Then I exist separate from you and no God could connect us
Because the way we touch is only a matter of quantum physics
And how my particles repel yours in some sort or another.
Interesting,  isn't it?

Can I just once stare absently at a page?
Without seeing the blinding whiteness as some sort of demonic sign of emptiness
The edges cut far deeper than one may begin to think.
A slit that stings from your friend, paper
We may personify it as a friend
A surface to inscribe those faulty secrets
Confide your unstable mind in
The edges cut far deeper than one may begin to think,
We can laugh at that statement.
We, as in me and the paper
Who I know won’t hurt me
Unless I sharpen the derogatory terms
And turn them on myself
But the paper
The blank page
Threatening, or not?
It may be considered a blessing
To not have to feel forced to divulge in what only is yourself
You can laugh together,
You and the page
Because it is funny
The illusion that you can use this innocent piece of white
To metaphorically slit your wrists

They hadn't felt its caress.
They hadn't felt the God-awful withdrawal,
“Just admit it, you have a problem.”
That I did that I do, that I will.
  My past, my present and my future
It’s honestly devastatingly easier that way.
Denial was, is, will be,
My lovingly apathetic partner.
This could all be a vividly beautiful dream,
A psychoactive illusion of the mind in order to break me once more.
That’s the awful idea I've had leading up to this point.
And yet I’m still reluctant to let go.
I can’t admit obvious defeat.
If I were to utter those three words,
Even aloud to myself…              
I’d fall down the rabbit hole and be lost amongst Alice’s Tears.
And at that point I’d like to selfishly think she wept somewhat for me.
My resolve is slowly disintegrating
And with each passing moment and i painfully realize where i stand.
No form of stubborn adolescence will save me from my dreaded epiphany.
You are what i long for,
Even more than the drug of easy denial,
Of comforting numbness,
Of absolute nothing.
Though they seem to gracefully invite me in with what seems like open hearts,
I am sadly held at arm’s length.
And instead of their cold embrace,
I wish for yours.
Instead of detachment,
I want the overwhelmingly delightful sense of electricity that comes with only a memory.
Instead of loneliness,
I wish for you.
Though it was much more uncomplicated to not care for defiance had been my best friend.
I think I’m okay with loving you.

Told you to leave, our lovely lord of home,
Unable to bask in your audacious pride;
You dimmed my wretched goddess—one who bore weeping life
Religion worthy, as though it was your strained role,
So let’s create a cult; a sculpted path to follow-
And our naïve leader we told you to fly
Your impressionable look at us: wry,
Partnered insanity, commendable.

My lord of home is naïve, lovely, insane,
Seed of tainted bloom; you brought painful life,
And you have sorely attempted love, the still
Blistering heat of cigarette on skin
Yet I asked you to leave without sigh,
My murderous savior of swaying self.

Little girl follow
Lively dreams curiouser
We ask for your time


Living in a world much different
Than our dear confused and lost Alice—
No mushrooms or cake to save me are sent;
No caterpillar to lend me nonsense advice;
Humpty is not here to decipher my scene
And the Jabberwocky would swallow me thrice;
Whole, with no vorpal sword incessantly keen—
But in Alice’s Looking-Glass, she is but a pawn
Though she soon finds herself as a queen;
One who had once tumbled, greatly fall’n
Lost amongst incandescent characters.
We wonder, what from what idea had this story spawned?
Compiled insecurities and labyrinth like factors?
Alice wanders blindly in our minds relentlessly.