I remember
it felt so nice
the sun's rays
beating upon my brow.
I didn't notice the blisters
forming
breaking
leaking
the heat leeching out of my life.
The color remained but
the moisture was gone:
all an illusion to help
them assume the blood
was still pumping
through my veins.
Soon enough the
veils blew away leaving
me naked, brittle,
barren; halted
as if I had come
across my own name
in the obituaries.
So I stood, seeing no where
that I wanted to be
instead, & slowly was buried
alive -- (?)
-- I was on the seeing side
of a one way mirror:
me, motionless
observant of their movement;
they, completely unaware
of my displacement.
I was coated so well in my
isolation that when
they looked deeply
into my eyes
they thought they saw themselves.
I started to believe
it would always be this way.
Hadn't it always been this way?
Though when I felt stirrings
I noted them with indifference.
Rock by rock the
mountain that sat on me
was removed
& yet I remained in place
waiting for them to be replaced.
I don't know when it happened
but one day
I noticed the flush return
to my cheeks
& the floods that were
collecting.
I am finding
my voice again.
It sounds so fragile & sweet.
I hate it when it rings in rejoice:

For the saddest thing
to me is that the flower
struggles all spring to
bud & blossom,
ignorant to her fate
of finally blooming
finally becoming ripe
only for Lucifer to pick
to braid her into his hair
before he falls.

http://ameliorate--resurge.tumblr.com

If you EVER need someone open-minded, non-judgemental, and caring to talk to, the above link takes you to my blog. I give honest, loving advice and support, and I'd feel honored if someone trusted me enough to reach out to me in a moment of need.

each random letter was picked with care
the sullen voice, the offset stare
yet she felt so out of control.
she had wild locks & violet eyes
she didn't know but was not surprised
you never knew what, or if, she was thinking.

she had this look about her, like she would rather be anywhere else, but you constantly felt under her attention, like you knew she was in this moment with you. she seemed constantly on the verge of letting something go (you didn't know what), but she's lingering in the doorway,  she's pausing to take the scene in, she's observing the dandelion for several minutes before blowing the seeds into the breeze.




if there is anything I've learned from her, it is to live in each moment, even if I'm detached--- though I'm detached.

At some point, we have to let go.

do you remember
when you were beautiful, & I a beast?
now you're dutiful. I'm only a barista.
when a message was all we had
when our words were shattered glass
when you were popping codiene
& I was just ghosting.
if I walked past you, would it matter?
if I stopped asking, would it still hurt?

do you wonder
when I'll smoke less cigarettes
or stop hating my silhouette
on the floorboards?
now I do.
when love was a click away
when a drink could forget yesterday
when I ate only cold meat
& I washed my hair on Jesus' feet.
if I keep moving rocks around, will I go forward?
if I buy less, will I get more?

do you dream about
when you'll wake from nightmares in my arms?
now, you're doing the program, doing time
when I'm looking at the clock spin circles around me
when I am cold & bruised & beat
when we're alone or lonely
& I wonder if it's love or mutual obsession.
if I say 'never', will wrong prove me?
if I get better, won't I still bleed?

look at me
not with your ideals
of who I should be.
look at me
not with bewilderment,
condemnation, inaccuracy.
look at me
without wishing I was
who I used to be.
just accept. just listen, just hold.
just
look at me.

I'm a spill out of cab doors
a spill on your bedsheets
smeared lipstick on shirt collars
the bandaid on bloodied knees
and dried mascara streamed tears.
I'm that sticky shot glass
the bathroom stall stumble
a slutty slipped tongue.
tonight I'm undone.

I'm the blank stare smoker
tad-whipped toker
the take her and poke her
slap her or choke her;
you ask my number and forget my name.

the loud laugher, the screamer.
yet I have nothing to say to you.
keep urging me not to be shy;
you'll never understand how my life
is a movie I sit back to watch.
you're only a red-shirt, only disposable,
only the used ******,
but *** is how I know I'm real.
I pretend to be drunker, dumber, easier
than I am
because I want to be allowed
to close my eyes, to scream, to enjoy this
******* moment.

life gets easier when you **** things you don't need
slaughter them mercilessly
you'll discover what really matters to you
when push comes to shove
and God gives you a gun.
you'll appreciate the little things
when the things that me little to you
are flung from a height
to raging waters
where they'll be beaten and battered
against unforgiving stone
cries falling on deaf ears
life becomes more meaningful
when you define your borders
and prune the morals you live by
the standards you accept
the societal rules you adhere to.