Dear _,

It's been hard to write. You were always the muse.
I'm no longer Anonymous. Anonymous is no longer mine.

Once, he smashed my lamp. I heard the sparkle of cheap IKEA glass fanning out on my floor like a miniature Arctic Ocean. When I came back to my room, he had a broom in one hand and your mug in the other.

I told him he could break anything in my life, but not that mug.

I am bound, my dear _ . Not because I wish I could tell you how much _. Not because I , or that I miss when we __ , but by sterility, latex gloves, telegrams. I am bound by the distance and detachment that keeps us safe as we venture inside other humans, other hearts.

The only way to survive terminal love was to induce a coma. Sleep until fixed.  

At best I will dream of your laugh.

surrounded by busy people
i sip at wine from a plastic cup
as my slow life creeps on.
satisfaction hasn't shown his head
in quite a long time,
much too long,
far too long.
i don't remember when i last saw him.
i last saw his face 36 hours ago
stubble grazed my cheek
and his sweat stuck him to my skin.
I wish i could feel
and love
and be settled.
only empty sentences fill me up,
but surely i'm close to reaching the brim.

I hate it when they call me cute,
or pretty.
I am so much more.
So much ******* more.
I could destroy you.

I am an intelligent being,
capable of many things,
i carve my path in life;
I do not search for your approval.
I do not need your validation
of my outward appearance
to feel accepted.
I am aware of my own self,
and all that I possess,
so much more than 'cute'.

Save me from hearing
your stupid compliments
None of what you say to me,
has not been said
to every girl before.

Little cunning foxes jumping over bushes,
              slaughtering the sheep I have been counting in my sleep.

I hand-pick plump raspberries while I watch the foxes
              rip out their throats, all of our lips stained red & ******.

My hazy sepia toned dream shimmers as I sit in the grass,
              sipping on a glass of arsenic laced strawberry lemonade.

The cool sun hugs my skin and my collarbones
              that jut and cut my finger as I brush a hair off my shoulder.

I look down at the pin ***** absentmindedly and glance
              at my foxes as their black eyes gaze upon me wildly.

Magenta stained muzzles set in stone as they begin to roam
              surrounding the circumference of my skirt, snapping their jaws.

Ebony teeth tearing me like cloth, jerking my body like
              a frail little rag doll dancing with these fiendish, lovely beasts.

They leave me quietly, bones picked nearly clean, waiting now
               for flowers to bloom in my hollow chest and my empty eyes.