Sara is a dream
With an attitude you won't believe
An addict for advice
She sits alone most friday nights
Spinning suns
And breaking ways
To find a reason not to stay
And live a life
She cannot stand to hold
So pretty in her hands
But quickly breaking down

Two weeks ago
The longest trip in my life tapered into calm reality.
Three years of
Craving
And crying
And loving you
The 'sick' way ended.

Sometimes I see a
Jackal
With yellow-orange eyes.
It looks at me expectantly,
Like everything does.

My ribs seep
From paled olive skin
Like a curtain
Closed to the show
Within.

I miss when my poems
Were laced with political emotion
And my rhymes rang true
To the tune of societal revulsion
When my veins felt like burning cities
And I craved diverting from man
I guess people all have moments
When they turn away from where they used to stand.

She spits her words like bullet shells
And stores them in a locket
She's like a prisoner of war,
Keeping shrapnel in her pockets
She ****** it up again,
her finger tips are ******
Can't hold her piece of iron still,
can't stop her mind from running
Shadows hide a silhouette,
but can't hide her ******* face
She used to dream in colour,
but now she just lies awake.

I still can't stop hating who I am.
Everybody laughs.
I'm just a sick joke they can't understand.

I spend entire nights awake,
Smoking res and trying not to choke
I swear to god I'm smoking cinders
From my suicide notes
Hearing voices, seeing God
Blowing pictures out of smoke
Sailing from my conscience
In an ash-made boat

Your words are generic,
Your mouth- just a hole.
You can match every syllable
But you can't match this soul.

The sirens sing us songs
Of waves that crash and call us home
And how the depths are worth it just to be
The brightest star beneath the sea.

Even medicated,
Sleep seems to run away.
It's probably because
I was used to
Drinking until
The room spun me to bed.

Oh, God-
Can you not ******* frozen lips?
Even if I was Chirsts bride,
Hell would still have me on its list.

I named my pipe
Sorrow.
Because of the way it sits on the edge
Of your lips.
And how some people choke on
Sadness as if it were
Poisoned smoke.
How it coats your lungs with resin
And it weighs
your center down
And although you may
Dispel the tainted air,
Your insides are never quite the same.

There are boys in the house that stutter.
It makes me wince when they
S-s-speak, with a smile and no shame
Because I was a girl
With a stutter beaten out of me.

I rip the stitches from my ribs
Like a sign of the unclean
and tie the threads behind the ears
of all the people I have seen
your voice still sounds like frost
that coats my faded jeans  
and footsteps spit out fire
while we sizzle and we sting.

I can't believe I let you ruin me*
My skin is raw from remembering
The way you captured me
With every sip, hit, drag,
****.

"you're shaking, ***."
she wears a concerned look.
"It's my meds. "
I ******* hate myself.
"You've been in bed all day."
I close my eyes to nausea
to pain
"Yeah. Sick."*
My whole mind and body quakes
I'm a monster,
in the midst of eternal transfiguration
I'm in withdrawal.

lashes catch the angel dust,
Tongue sizzles on the sun
He was born to be a mockingbird
He was born without a gun.

Somehow,
       Life goes from stealing
     Sweets
from moms purse
To counting your pills
    And realizing that
        Tables can turn.

I put out
Cigarettes on my fingertips
To 'pass the torch'
And echo the way that smoke drifts
With every letter
That finds reality
Between my blistered thumbs
And cellphone keys.

There is a Tempest in my head,
The boy who knew my blood.
Probably insane.
But he knew me, nonetheless.
We spoke of ghosts and comforts of hurt
All night until you slept.
Your irish tone sank deep
And resonated within my bones.

I don't have
The time to
Give you the attention
You're seeking
Just because
You're drinking.

When I get angry
Or nervous
My long-gone accent
Hints at my past
Reappearing for the sake of
old pains.

I wish I wouldn't wake
In the smallest hours of morning
With a headache
And hushed voices
Coaxing me to open my weary eyes.
I know what I'll  awake to-
The Dark Thing so near my bed,
Beckoning across layers
For an untimely death.

I could pave your way
With little lamps-
A hundred paths
Away from any known map
But I'd lead you straight into a trap.

What a trip.*
I spent its entirety
Eating anxiety
And smiling at my fears

There is no urgency
in living in
A well adjusted reality.
Just obligations
and timed machinery.

Darling, I am just a painter.
What more could you want?
There's no more that I desire
Than to watch these colours rot.

I am a
Cynical,
Cold *****
Because that's what
You wanted from me.

The walls will whisper everything,
like sinister and scarcity
and hanging by a string-
Or a rope from the ceiling.

These words tangle me,
they're the only sound
I've ever seen
that says exactly what I mean
and at the same time
exactly nothing.

Im sorry to be the killer,
The sister who never sat stiller,
Than in the moments before
My murderous lore
Chilled in the throat of the teller.

He dipped himself cautiously
Into my soft white
Curves
As if I were a crisp stream.

Oh god,
Let me carve again-
I was made without your mark,
Bathed in too much flesh
And tiny breaths
To fully feel alive.

You'd be surprised
Just how often I try to sleep,
But hear people **** instead.
It makes my stomach churn,
I hate human instinct
I don't understand uncivilized *** drives
I just want to be somewhere less disgusting.

I still know
Exactly who you are
And just who
You were.

It takes a buzz
for me to be happy
For the feel of any feeling
besides misery and pain
and the carpet
and a little girls shame.
As sad as it is-
these aching old memories
are still a bleeding stain.

He has the tendency
Of being an
Overly aggressive
*****,
And she kisses ***
With venomed
Lips-
Of course there's
Trouble in paradise.

In the morning
My throat feels thick
My body aches
My lip bleeds
Because all night I sleep in a tense
Ball, grinding
Teeth.